The Gods' Champion
by WhiteRoseQueen
Summary: Blessed by the gods, Panthea, daughter of Menelaus and Helen, is destined to be their champion. As a Princess of Sparta, she defies her gender role and demonstrates her leadership and fighting abilities, attracting the attention of both Achilles and Hector during the Trojan War. What will be her role in the war? And whom will she choose?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs and parts of the storyline I have inserted.**

 **A/N: Welcome viewers! I hope you enjoy this first chapter. Comments are welcome! Special thanks to Arianna Le Fay for helping me choose the name of my OC and the actress she looks like: Emilia Clarke. All other characters are their respective selves in Wolfgang Petersen's** _ **Troy**_ **.**

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _ **A sudden blow: the great wings beating still**_

 _ **Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed**_

 _ **By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,**_

 _ **He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.**_

 _ **How can those terrified vague fingers push**_

 _ **The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?**_

 _ **And how can body, laid in that white rush,**_

 _ **But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?**_

 _ **A shudder in the loins engenders there**_

 _ **The broken wall, the burning roof and tower**_

 _ **And Agamemnon dead.**_

 _ **Being so caught up,**_

 _ **So mastered by the brute blood of the air,**_

 _ **Did she put on his knowledge with his power**_

 _ **Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?**_

 _ **Leda and the Swan~William Butler Yeats**_

* * *

The gods all sat in council on Mount Olympus, judging the mortals below for their crimes and grievances against them as well as their fellow humans. Zeus was at the head of the table, his regal aura surrounding the other gods and goddesses, his commanding posture ordering them to not speak out of turn nor anger him or else they would feel his wrath. His crystal blue eyes held a stern gaze as he listened to the current argument amongst them. He held his chiseled chin with his hand, contemplating how to respond and his eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"We must do something about Agamemnon's actions. He's way out of line for this last stunt he pulled," spoke Athena. As the goddess of wisdom, Athena knew how to punish him yet she rarely ever considered tormenting the great Kings of the Greece. However, Agamemnon came from a cursed royal line beginning with his grandfather, Tantalos, whom fed the gods his own son. Pelops of course was granted rebirth in a way and was restored to his former self, only his shoulder specially made by the gods as Demeter was the only goddess to not notice she was eating human flesh because of her grieving over Persephone. Tantalos was then punished by the gods, living in the underworld as a forever tantalized being, not being able to quench his thirst or fill his stomach, forever thirsty and hungry for his crimes against the gods.

Pelops did not fall far from the tree. In order to win King Oenomaus's daughter's hand in marriage, he sabotaged the chariot race by bribing the king's servant, Myrtilus. Pelops had promised him that he could take Hippodamia's virtue if he won. However, Pelops went back on his promise, pushing Myrtilus off a cliff, but not before his whole entire line was again cursed.

The couple had many sons, including Atreus and Thyestes, both of whom engaged in their own quarrel over Atreus's wife, Aerope, who committed adultery with Thyestes. In response to the adultery, Atreus fed Thyestes's sons to him in a grand banquet, revealing what the contents of food were at the end by unveiling Thyestes's sons' heads. Thyestes's cursed his brother, committing incest with his daughter, Pelopia, who bore Aegisthus. He would avenge his father for his brother's actions.

Agamemnon now held no regards for the gods, adding more lands to his kingdom and forcing the princes of the many nations he conquered under his control. He never prayed to the gods nor mentioned them as his reason for success and that was his crime. His most recent conquest had been that of the kingdom of Cyparissus. Thousands of soldiers had died, but did he care? No, of course not. Agamemnon was the King of Mycenae and never fought his wars, instead using his men to satisfy his greed for land and power. Only Menelaus was spared as the brother of Agamemnon and the King of Sparta.

"Let him be," replied Hermes who was absentmindedly picking at his nails, bored with the meeting and ready to engage in his regular activity of causing mischief and delivering lost souls to the underworld. His catlike eyes narrowed as his sister glared at him in warning.

"Enough." Zeus held up his hand, halting the bickering of his children. "What do you propose daughter?" All the gods and goddesses leaned forward, eager to hear of what the mighty daughter of Zeus had to say.

"Agamemnon has recently been married to Clytemnestra and Menelaus to Helen, your daughters by Leda father."

Zeus nodded, confirming her thoughts. Hera rolled her eyes, tired of her husband's extramarital affairs. She dealt with it though, as any wife would.

Leda had been one of his more recent conquests. He had been trying to escape from the wrath of an eagle and sought refuge with Leda. Disguised as a swan, Zeus had visited and impregnated Leda who vowed she would never deceive her husband, Tyndareus. Tyndareus also laid with her that night. As a result, she bore two eggs: Helen and Clytemnestra in one egg and her sons Pollux and Castor in the other. As she grew, Helen had blossomed into a beautiful young woman, attracting many suitors to Tyndareus's lands. She was capture by Theseus, but returned when he realized she was too young to wed. He later traveled to the underworld to steal Persephone from Hades and would have remained imprisoned in the underworld if wasn't for Heracles rescue mission. When Helen came of marriageable age, Tyndareus made all the suitors promise to enter a pact in which they would all come to the aid of Helen's future husband if necessary. Helen was the married off to Menelaus and Leda and Tyndareus stepped aside for Menelaus and Helen to take the throne of Sparta.

"Perhaps we should curse his line, make him barren and prevent him from furthering his blood line."

A loud chuckle reverberated throughout the room. "Perhaps you are thinking too harsh sister, even if it is you," Apollo murmured, his features alight in mirth.

"Hmmmm Apollo is right. Perhaps another tactic would be well deserved." Zeus fell back in his throne, hands gripping the arms of the chair. "I have an idea. Hasn't Helen fallen pregnant already?"

"So soon? The girl is barely 14 years old, too fragile to bear children," Hera voiced. "She'll die as soon as the babe is born and her child with her."

"Not if we intervene." Athena muttered to her so-called step-mother. "We can protect them and Helen could deliver a child that would cause the ruin of the house of Atreus. A child that defies everything the men of the family believe. A woman amongst men, a ruler of men, a woman that cannot be controlled, a female warrior."

The others listened keenly, intrigued by the turn of events. This would be the greatest intervention of the gods in the time of men, a child of their own that would do their bidding and cease the power of Agamemnon and challenge him in every way possible.

"It has been decided then." The gods all nodded in agreement to Zeus's comment. "Do what you must. Apollo and Athena, you will be her guardians. Bestow upon her the many qualities you deem fit to give her. Guide her. Watch over her. She will be our champion."

All the gods arose from the table, bowing to Zeus as he left the grand hall and traveled to his personal chambers. All minds were filled with thoughts of this new arrangement.

"Are you sure this will work?" Hera questioned the others. "The last time he did this was with Perseus and he was almost killed by the gorgon. And he was man mind you. Men survive far longer than women do in the challenges presented before them."

"The child will be fine with our guidance Hera." Athena cut her off, her eyes scrutinizing Hera's every word. Hera was always negative when it came to Zeus's offspring, always plotting ways to destroy them and Zeus's lovers. Hera let out an exasperated sigh and glared at Athena before departing. The others followed until only Apollo, Artemis, and Athena remained.

"Together will work together and bring down the greed of men sisters." Apollo looked at Artemis and Athena, his eyes holding sincerity. The three gods and goddesses all nodded to each other and left the room together before departing their separate ways. Athena to her study as always, her loyal owl hooting as she entered the room. Apollo traveled to Delphi where he watched over the Oracle as she delivered prophecies embedded with riddles to the mortals. Artemis left the luxuries of Olympus to be with her nymph followers as they frolicked through the woods looking for her sacred deer. The gods had returned to their regular schedules, but their work had barely even started.

* * *

As a son of the sea nymph, Thetis, Achilles was anything but normal. His mother would not stand for a mortal son so she had dipped him in a pot of boiling water or better yet, the river Styx, and fed him ambrosia to turn him into an immortal. However, she held him by the heels making him not completely immortal. Once his father Peleus had found out, that had been the end of it.

At a very young age, Achilles had been handed off to the wise centaur Chiron. He reared him as his own son and trained him to the mightiest warrior the gods had ever seen. He was then passed to Phoenix, one of his father's closest friends, and fulfilled his destiny as a great warrior.

Now at the age of 18, Achilles had returned from war to Phthia for his father's funeral. Peleus had urged Achilles to not go to war again, wishing for his son to be present at his side. Achilles had ignored his father's pleas, instead seeking out war and glory. He stood there with a grim expression on his face, the creases in his forehead multiplying the longer he stared at his father's body. His hands were clasped together at his side, the muscles in his arms tensing whenever he squeezed his fists tighter. His dark blue eyes were steady, never wavering, keeping vigilant watch like a hawk scanning the ground for prey. That was what Achilles was though, a predator of men, the cloak of death. He couldn't think of any moment in which he hadn't been a warrior. He was constantly fighting, in war and in life.

As the flames devoured his father's body, Achilles watched the smoke rise into the sky, traveling to the heavens where the gods resided. He cursed himself for not listening to his father, berated himself for being too prideful and not mindful of what his father wanted from him. He couldn't remember a moment where he had truly spent time with his father. He knew Peleus had cared for him greatly, but he didn't take part in his upbringing as Chiron and Phoenix had done. Phoenix had fed Achilles as a child, cared for him as if he was his own son. Phoenix of course was cursed so he was not able to have any children due to his involvement with a woman his father had been interested in. His mother had urged him to take the girl and defy his father. Doing so, he was exiled and cursed by his father and retreated to Phthia where Peleus welcomed him with open arms and bestowed upon him many riches and land. Chiron was the famous centaur, half-man and half-horse, renown for wisdom throughout all of Greece. He taught Achilles the way of warriors and princes, divulging the ways men evolve to greatness. These two men had much more influence on Achilles life than Peleus ever did.

The sound of hooves reached Achilles ears, his eyes darting to the source of noise disrupting his father's funeral rites. He was angry, that much was known. By the way his jaw ticked and his eyes darkened, no one would want to disrupt him if they saw how deadly he was at that moment.

The approaching rider halted several feet away from him, dust rising around his mount as he dismounted. "My lord," he said respectfully, bowing before him. "King Agamemnon requests your presence in Argos immediately." The man had no idea who he had just upset and how much danger he had just put himself in because of the orders of his master.

Achilles stood in front of the man within seconds, taking large steps to reach the man, his iron grip seizing the shirt of the man forcefully. The messenger shook in shock, his face betraying how scared he was in that moment. "You tell your king I will see him when I see fit. My father deserves his 12 days of funeral rites and I will give them to him." He spit the words into the man's face, his teeth gritting with the amount of anger he put behind every word. "Now get out of my sight." Achilles forcefully shoved the man backwards, his strength sending the poor servant to the ground. The man looked up exasperated before scurrying to pick himself up and mount his steed. He disappeared as quickly as possible, forgetting his manners towards nobility as he left without a bow or goodbye.

Achilles was infuriated, waves of heat rolling off his body as he glared at the back of the retreating rider. _Curse that man for his intrusion and the gull of Agamemnon_ he thought. He returned to the task at hand and took his place in front of his father's funeral pyre. The smoke continued to curl up and into the air until the sun settled on the horizon, sinking into the ocean as the moon rose into the sky. The flames died down and all that was left were the ashes of Peleus.

* * *

Achilles hated the pomp and circumstance of Agamemnon's court. Everyone always seemed to be sucking up to the so-called king who sat on his throne watching as his soldiers won his wars for him. It was disgusting, the way the other kings of Greece were put under his control and forced to fight for him. They were then called to court to congratulate Agamemnon for a victory he had done nothing for. Achilles rolled his eyes at the spectacle, wishing he could be somewhere else other than in the presence of such a pig of a man. Currently, the man in question was greedily groping some slave girl who was drowning in all the attention he was giving her. She pulled her dress up higher around her thighs as Agamemnon ran his hands up and down the smooth skin and leaned in closer to suck on the girl's slim throat. Agamemnon's brother, Menelaus, was doing the same with his own entertainer for evening, a belly dancer hired for that evening. Achilles turned away from the scene, repulsed at what he had just seen and focused his attention on the wine in his cup, swallowing it down in one gulp before holding it out to a servant to be refilled.

The doors to the grand chamber suddenly opened, creaking loudly as the guards pushed them open for the newcomer. Achilles head darted up, taking in the woman's appearance. Her hair was golden and perfectly arranged at the top of her head, a gold circlet placed on top. Her eyes were the clearest blue, like when the ocean was at its calmest and the sun shined to the bottom to the point where the water was almost translucent. Her face was young, no wrinkles or scars marred her face. She could have been no older than Achilles himself. Her body was covered with the most expensive silk, a light blue that made her eyes pop. It was clasped at her shoulders with two golden pins and a gold belt was tied around her waist. The only jewelry she wore was the circlet on her head and a pair of earrings that hung from her ears, sparkling in the firelight. In her arms, she held a child that could perhaps be no older than three. Her head was buried in her mother's shoulders, her unruly hair covering her face from view.

The woman walked timidly into the room, her handmaiden following diligently behind her, urging her mistress to return to her chambers with the child. The hall was no place for a woman of her standards, especially at that time of the evening when the most scandalous and lude things occurred between the men and the ladies of the night, and in public where all could see. That was the behavior of men though, showing their dominance over woman and exposing their manhood for all the world to see to receive praise from the other men resent for their actions.

She slowly walked towards where Menelaus was sitting, her face cringing in repugnance as she watched the man indulge himself with the belly dancer. He looked up for a moment, his eyes lighting up as he saw the woman coming towards him. It was in that moment that Achilles realized this could only be Helen, the wife of Menelaus, and the most beautiful woman of all Greece. Menelaus rose from his seat, pushing the leech-like woman away from him as he tried disentangle himself from her arms. He roughly shoved her away from himself, rising from his position to reach his wife. She crossed her arms across her chest, huffing in annoyance and pursing her lips as she watched Menelaus retreat. Achilles had never seen such a sight. Usually the men would make a joke to their wives or ignores their presence, but not Menelaus. Helen reached her arms out, passing the child to her husband who held the girl close to his chest as she linked her hands around his neck.

That was when her head turned and Achilles eyes locked with the most unique eyes he had ever seen. They were a combination of blue and green, an array of shades he could not decipher. At first they appeared a light blue, like her mother's, but the more she opened her eyes, the more you could see the light green with specks of gold surrounding the irises. Her hair was blond, almost to the point where it appeared white. Tears stained her face, but made the child look even more angelic. Her eyes were studying him with the type of curiosity a child possessed, staring for several seconds before turning away just to look right back at him, no shame in the way she was watching him. She then turned her attention to Menelaus who was questioning Helen over what was wrong with their child.

"She was glowing again in her sleep. Only brighter this time, he eyes opened and they were white Menelaus. I've never seen anything like it. She kept muttering words under her breath, but she spoke so fast I couldn't understand anything she was saying." Helen stroked her daughter's hair with the utmost care, looking frightened at what she had witnessed and guilty she had screamed at what she saw, startling her daughter out of her unconscious mind and making her cry fearfully.

"It's a symbol of the gods, that much I can tell." Menelaus quieted his daughters sniffling by murmuring soothingly to her and drying the tears from her eyes. She hiccupped in response, snuggling further into his chest. "It's alright my Panthea. You are safe." Menelaus nodded to Helen before leading her out of the hall, his hand on her lower back in comfort. The couple may have had their arguments and spats, Menelaus sometimes being verbally and physically abusive, but when it came to their daughter, Menelaus was surprisingly attentive and concerned. Fatherhood had changed him in a way, his daughter acting as a shield for her mother.

Achilles watched the pair leave the revelries of the evening, but not before receiving one last curious look from the child Panthea, a child of the gods.

* * *

Hector had retired from his princely duties of the day and was now relaxing in the royal stables grooming his stallion. The stud nickered at Hector as he finished brushing his coat and fed him another apple from the basket of treats one of the servant girls had brought to him. Lifting his arm, Hector rubbed off the sweat on his forehead and stared into the sun. It was hotter than usual; the gods having decided to send a massive heat wave to Troy instead of blessing them with rain. Hector's father, Priam, would surely be urging the priests to conduct more sacrifices that evening. He rolled his eyes at that. Priam focused too much on signs from the gods, too superstitious for the likes of Hector.

At the age of 22, Hector was renowned for his abilities on the battlefield and the way he handled the affairs of his father's kingdom, Troy, with an air of ease. The people were dependent on Priam's heir as he would be their future leader and all their fates resided in him, in his ability to be a leader and a warrior. Hector understood his responsibilities and his duty to his father as well as his people, much more than his younger brothers who did not have that type of burden.

Standing at 6'1, Hector was quite an attractive figure with his curly brown hair and dark eyes that were mysterious, as if they held secrets no one knew. He had just been able to start growing a light beard which made him look even more handsome with his rugged appearance. His muscles were prominent under the usual royal blue attire for the day, but with his armor on they were bulging whenever he lifted his sword above his head to strike an enemy down in the battlefield.

His brother Paris was considered the prettier of the two though, his boyish features not yet matured and his lean figure attracting the attention of all the younger girls. He was immature though and cared more for archery and flirting rather than sword fighting and paying attention to his lessons, something Hector would have to work on with him to make him a better warrior. At the age of 12, Paris was still learning and would excel if he listened to Priam and paid attention to Hector's words. He was on the brink of manhood, the age where childish pastimes would soon have to come to an end and the embracement of one's masculine identity would occur.

Out of nowhere, Paris appeared behind his elder brother, out of breath as he had run towards Hector as if his life had depended on it. "Hello brother," he wheezed out, leaning over to catch his breath by placing his hands on his knees.

Hector eyed him suspiciously, his eyes narrowing at his unkempt appearance. "What's got you in such a rush Paris? I hope you weren't spying on mother's handmaiden's again."

Paris was known for being mischievous, though Priam rarely scolded the boy. He had recently gotten caught spying on his mother's ladies as they bathed in the river Scamander next to Troy. Hecuba had been furious, dead set on punishing her younger son, but all Priam did was laugh aloud when the story was told to him and beckoned Hecuba to reconsider. He told his wife that Paris was a young boy and that of course curiosity would get the best of him. The situation was seemingly hilarious to him, but he did tell Paris that if it happened again that Priam himself could not get him out of his punishment from Hecuba. Priam then patted the boys head and let Paris go on his way.

"Of course not Hector. I know better…I don't get caught now." Paris grinned up cheekily at Hector, who in turn rolled his eyes at his brother's antics, a small smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. His brother may have been wrong in his actions, but it was still quite amusing.

"Why are you here then brother?" Hector questioned Paris. Paris's cheeks immediately reddened at his brother's comments, his eyes now darting anywhere else then Hector's face. He sandals began to kick up dust as he avoided his elder brother's question. "Paris, tell me," Hector urged, a stern expression on his face.

Paris met his brother's dark eyes with his blue ones and answered his brother. "I may or may not have ridden father's horse today." His eyes moved back to the ground again.

"You what?" Hector spoke. He groaned in exasperation. "You mean stole it Paris? You know better than that. No one is to ride that horse, but father himself."

"I know brother, but I was bored. It seemed like a perfect moment to go for a ride." Paris continued to avoid his brother's sharp glare. "It's not like it hurt anybody."

"And tell me Paris, where is father's horse now?" Hector said the words in a deadly tone. He had not seen the steed when he entered the stables and now he was dreading the answer his brother would give him.

Paris's cheeks blushed even more. "You see, that's the problem. He spooked when I was riding him and I fell off. I tried running after him, but he had galloped away so fast that I couldn't keep up with him. I don't even know where he is now." He looked guilty now, the way his hands and feet were fidgeting.

"Of course. Once again you have truly outdone yourself." Hector angrily exited his steed's stall, slamming the stall door behind him and startling the horse before coming to stand in front of his troublesome brother. He regretted scarring the creature, but he couldn't help himself. He was furious with his brother's rash actions, cursing him for it would be he that would have to find Priam's beloved stallion and not Paris. Paris wouldn't be able to find him anyway let alone catch the horse. Plus, his father would see it as Hector's responsibility not Paris's.

Hector forcefully grabbed the front of Paris's shirt before pulling him in his direction towards the palace. Of course, he wasn't really pulling Paris, but dragging with the way how large and quick his steps were. Paris could hardly keep up with his brother's raging self and sprinted to keep up as well as prevent his shirt from being ripped to shreds. They would have to discuss this issue with Priam whether Paris wanted to or not. His father would find out eventually, even if the horse had been returned or not before anyone noticed.

* * *

Entering the main entrance of the palace, the two young princes traveled to their father's throne room. Upon entering, many of the members of the court bowed respectfully and then returned to their previous activities. Priam was seated at his throne with Hecuba as his side as well as his daughter, Cassandra. She was his father's favorite and often was seen at his side in the throne room when serious matters were not being discussed. Younger than Paris by four years, she held this air of knowledge around herself and proved to be very intelligent for her age. She was destined to be a priestess of Apollo when she was old enough and Priam and Hecuba were ever proud of their daughter's early decision.

Seeing his sons enter, Priam rose from his throne and embraced both sons in a fatherly manner. He had immediately noticed Hector's severe expression and Paris's scared one, but he made no look on his face that he had acknowledged their expressions. "Leave us," he voiced to the court. The members of the court listened obediently to the King of Troy's commands and left the royal family to themselves.

Silence echoed throughout the throne room, Priam scrutinizing his sons. "What has happened?" he questioned.

Hector nudged Paris forward and nodded towards their father. Paris had been the source of trouble therefore he would be the one admitting his fault to his father and not his elder brother.

"Father I…I…" Paris's voice stuttered, "I rode your prized stallion this afternoon." He looked guiltily at the ground like he did when he told Hector of his dilemma.

"Did you now." Priam and Hecuba both looked at Hector for confirmation while Cassandra's mouth dropped open like a fish. Hector nodded in response to his father's questioning look. Priam was angry, but unlike other men, he remained eerily calm and composed. "And where is my horse now Paris?" His eyebrows rose in question.

Paris loudly gulped, his nervousness apparent to all his family members present. "Lost father. I fell while I was riding him and he disappeared before I could do anything." He rose his head to meet his father's stormy eyes. "I'm sorry father. I know I've done wrong, Hector made sure I knew. I did not have permission therefore I disobeyed you."

"Yes you did. And now you are to go to rooms for the rest of the day and are to not emerge until your mother and I come to retrieve you, whenever that may be." Priam eyed his son before nodding his head towards the door of the throne room.

"Yes father." Paris turned quickly, his head drooping as he scurried off to his chambers. Hecuba and Cassandra soon followed, they themselves retiring to Hecuba's chambers. Priam pressed a loving kiss to his wife's forehead before she departed.

"Hector, you are to retrieve my horse. I don't care how long it takes. You shall be the one to find him." Hector glared at his father for his orders. Once again he was to receive the blow for Paris's faults.

"Are you not to punish him father?" Hector questioned challengingly.

The two men's eyes locked in a heated battle, both controlling and powerful figures. "He has been punished the way I see fit. Now I suggest you go and find my horse before it gets dark." Hector knew then that this was not an argument worth fighting for and stopped what he was doing. Diligent as ever, Hector bowed to his father and left the room before focusing on the task at hand, finding his father's stallion.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed the prologue. Comments are welcome!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline.**

 **A/N: Chapter one is now up! Hope you guys enjoy. Comments are welcome!**

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

 _ **HAT course of life should wretched mortals take?**_

 _ **In courts hard questions large contention make:**_

 _ **Care dwells in houses, labor in the field,**_

 _ **Tumultuous seas affrighting dangers yield.**_

 _ **In foreign lands thou never canst be blessed;**_

 _ **If rich, thou art in fear; if poor, distressed.**_

 _ **In wedlock frequent discontentments swell;**_

 _ **Unmarried persons as in deserts dwell.**_

 _ **How many troubles are with children born;**_

 _ **Yet he that wants them counts himself forlorn.**_

 _ **Young men are wanton, and of wisdom void;**_

 _ **Gray hairs are cold, unfit to be employed.**_

 _ **Who would not one of these two offers choose,**_

 _ **Not to be born, or breath with speed to lose?**_

 _ **Life A Bane by Posidippus**_

 _ **Translation by Sir John Beaumont**_

* * *

 **12 years later**

The armies of Greece spread across the lands of Thessaly in battle formation, Agamemnon still sought to expand his control over the Greek mainland and Thessaly had been his next unfortunate target. Kingdom after kingdom had fallen under his rule and Thessaly would not be the last.

The Thessalian king and his army stood across the Greek forces on the field, their forces dwarfed by the number of Greeks present. Each king took their respective places on their chariots before spurring their horses forward to meet in the middle of the armies. Dismounting, Agamemnon was the first to speak.

"It's a good day for the crows," Agamemnon spoke sarcastically. Death was just a game to this man. He would kill or rather have his army kill anyone who stood in his way.

The Thessalian King was outraged at his comment. "Remove your army from my land."

"Really…I like your land. I think we'll stay. I like your soldiers too. They could be of good use for me." Agamemnon was taunting the other king, relishing in the way he seemed to make him frustrated.

"They won't fight for you."

"That's what the Messenians said. And the Arcadians and the Epeians. Now they all fight for me, just as you will." Agamemnon smiled evilly.

"You can't have the whole world Agamemnon," the Thessalian king spoke. He let out an exasperated sigh. "It's too big, even for you."

Agamemnon's eyes lit up with glee. "I don't want to watch another massacre. Let's settle this war then, in the old manner. You best fighter against mine."

"And if my man wins?" the Thessalian king questioned. He was anxious to hear Agamemnon's response. He didn't want war, but he would rather fight than submit to Agamemnon's rule.

"We'll leave Thessaly for good," Agamemnon answered. "Now, where's your man."

"Boagrius!" the Thessalian King roared. His whole army erupted into loud chanting and cheers. A massive man emerged from the ranks. He was a monster in his own right. Standing at 6'7, the man towered over most and slaughtered men with no conscience. His broad chest was bare, exposing his physique and muscles to all. A golden collar was wrapped around his neck, making him resemble an ox in a way. His arms and legs each possessed leather strappings to protect him from injury and in his hands he held two spears and a shield. Boagrius came to stand in the middle of the field behind his king, waiting for the next orders.

Agamenon peered behind the Thessalian King in interest. His eyes widened at the sight while the other king had a look of triumph on his face. Raising his eyebrows, he spoke again to his opponent. "Impressive." He then chose his own man. "Achilles!" he yelled behind him. He turned around, expecting to see the warrior emerge from the ranks, but all was silent.

The Thessalian king looked pleased and his armies jeered at the opposing one. "Boagrius has this effect on many heroes." Boagrius also grinned at the fact that Achilles had not appeared when his name was called.

Agamenon responded sharply. "Be careful who you insult old king."

A rider from Agamemnon's army then neared the kings having searched the ranks for Achilles. He stopped in front of them and spoke hesitantly, "My king, Achilles is not with the army."

A look of rage appeared on Agamemnon's face. "Where is he?" he answered angrily.

The soldier looked frightened at his master's sudden outrage. "I sent a boy to look for him." The army then began to wait for Achille's arrival.

* * *

A young boy, no older than 10, had been sent to search for the great Achilles. Trotting on his horse through the Greek encampment, he came to Achille's tent and dismounted quickly. Hesitantly, he entered the tent, fearing Achilles would be in the same state as Agamemnon because of intrusion. Upon entering, he noticed Achilles was still asleep in bed. Fully naked, he was lying face down on the bed, two women side-by-side next to him. The blond one had her arm draped over Achilles while the brunette laid on her back, her breasts exposed in the morning air.

The boy walked towards Achilles with slow steps before placing a hand on his shoulder to wake him. Achilles hand jerked forward and grasped the collar of the boy's shirt, scaring the boy in the process. The child was pulled to his knees before Achilles realized who he was, his golden hair falling in his eyes as he lifted his head up to see the stranger.

"I was having a dream, a very good dream." Achilles spoke to no one, but merely mumbled under his breath before lying his head back down.

The boy then spoke timidly. "King Agamemnon sent me. He needs to…"

Achilles interrupted the boy before he could finish his sentence. "I'll speak to your king in the morning" he said gruffly.

"But my lord, it is morning," the boy responded.

Achilles again lifted his head and looked at his surroundings. His eyes adjusted to the light, scanning everything around him.

"They're waiting for you."

Achilles pushed the blonde girl's arm off his body before rising from bed and readied himself for the battle ahead.

Exiting from the tent with the boy, Achilles headed towards his stallion in full armor. He looked like the god, from the way he carried himself, from the way he looked, from the way he spoke, everything about him was godlike. The boy was in awe of the warrior as he walked beside him and then held his weapons so Achilles could mount his own steed.

"Are the stories true?" the boy questioned curiously. Achilles mounted his horse. "They say your mother is an immortal goddess." The boy then handed Achilles his helmet before speaking again. "They say you can't be killed."

"I wouldn't be bothering with a shield, then would I?" Achilles placed his helmet on before reaching done towards the boy to collect his weapons."

"The Thessalian your fighting, he's the biggest man I've ever seen." The boy's eyes widened just by talking about Boagrius. He was scared, that much Achilles could tell. "I wouldn't want to fight him."

"That's why no one will remember your name." Achilles knew his words were brutal, but they were the truth. Being a warrior meant glory and fame, something the boy clearly did not understand. He smiled down at the child before riding towards the Greek forces, his thoughts on the battle ahead.

* * *

When he arrived, Achilles was greeted with the loud shouts of Agamemnon's army. They began to chant his name in unison and parted so Achilles could maneuver through the crowd on his steed. At the font of the army, he stopped and viewed his opponent, sizing him up. Boagrius grinned at him, thinking the battle would be easy.

Achilles smoothly dismounted from is horse, before walking towards Agamemnon and his advisors.

"Perhaps we should have our war tomorrow when you're better rested," Agamemnon sarcastically said. "I should have you whipped for your impotence." Agamemnon was trying to exert his control over Achilles, a man, no a beast that would never be under the command of anyone, but himself.

Those words stopped Achilles in his tracks, his head jerking to the side and his sharp eyes darting to meet Agamemnon's gaze. "Perhaps you should fight him," he responded. E then turned around to return to his.

"Achilles," Nestor spoke as he began walking next to Achilles. He was the wisest of kings under Agamemnon's control, an advisor of sorts that was to be respected by all. "Achilles….Look at the men's faces. You can save hundreds of them. You can end this war with the swing of your sword." Behind them, Agamemnon rolled his eyes. Once again Nestor was trying to guilt Achilles into fighting. "Let them go home to their wives."

Achilles considered what Nestor had asked of him. He wanted to save the men, but he did not want to fight for Agamemnon. His conscience won out in the end. He pulled a spear from his belt and turned to face Boagrius again. "Imagine a king who fights his own battles." He thrusted the spear into the ground as he passed Agamemnon. "Wouldn't that be a sight," he growled.

Nestor returned to Agamemnon's side. "Of all the war lords loved by the gods, I hate him the most," muttered Agamemnon as he stared at the back of Achilles.

Achilles walked towards Boagrius, a determined look on his face. He drew his sword from its sheath and held his shield protectively in front of him in the other hand. His stance was powerful, commanding, everything a warrior should be. Boagrius let out a yell at Achille's actions before turning to the army behind, making them cheer as he raised his arms above his head.

Achilles began running, his agile body awaiting what was to come. Boagrius turned back around and grasped one of his spears in his hand, throwing it farther than any ordinary man could. It struck Achilles shield and lodged itself inside the metal. Achilles discarded it as if it was nothing. It was left on the sand, forgotten in that moment as Achilles focused on Boagrius, strategies running through his mind. Another spear was thrown and Achilles ducked, the spear barely missing his head. Boagrius then went to draw his sword. Achilles sprinted, nearing Boagrius as he drew his own sword. Achilles dodged the sword, maneuvering to his right before jumping into the air and thrusting his own sword through Boagrius's neck, the sword moving through flesh and muscle before piercing his heart. Boagrius let out a painful sigh before collapsing to the ground, dead.

Achilles walked away as if what he had just done was normal. He was not out breath; he was not fazed by his actions. He was a warrior, a beast, a killing machine of the gods. The army behind him began to cheer, their spears clanging together in victory. Agamemnon and Nestor were pleased. Nearing towards the Thessalian army, Achilles spoke. "Is there no one else?" he yelled menacingly, looking at the ranks. Silence met his ears. "Is there no one else?" he repeated. The men in front of him appeared to be terrified.

The Thessalian king approached Achilles. "Who are you soldier," he questioned, curious as to who the man that killed his best warrior was. He was in awe of his skills.

"Achilles, son of Peleus," Achilles replied nonchalantly.

"Achilles," the king said to himself. "I'll remember the name." He then held out his scepter to Achilles, seemingly accepting his fate as another addition to Agamemnon's army. A deal was a deal and king did not break his promises regardless of the situation. "The ruler of Thessaly carries this scepter. Give it to your king."

Achilles looked down at the scepter, disgusted at what he saw. Once again another man and his army became one of Agamemnon's puppets. "He's not my king," he said defiantly before turning and walking back towards the Greek army. The Thessalian watched as Achilles retreated, wondering as to why such a man could be under the control of the likes of Agamemnon.

* * *

The kingdom of Mycenae was bustling with activity. Another banquet was to be held for Agamemnon's victory, again won by the great Achilles, and the market place was busy selling goods as well as transporting them to Agamemnon's home. Achilles was nearing the palace, his company of fellow Myrmidons riding close by. He had decided to bring his cousin Patroclus along who was now in his care as he trained him to be a warrior. The boy was no older than 18 and was very similar in looks to Achilles. He was a quick learner, earning the praise of Achilles who ever rarely gave it. It took a lot to impress the son of Peleus.

The gates to the Mycenaean palace opened, allowing Achilles and the Myrmidons entrance onto the grounds. Nearing the entrance of the palace, Achilles heard a loud ruckus coming from the training grounds where a large group of men stood shouting at the match that was taking place. Intrigued, Achilles dismounted his horse and neared the fight, Patroclus following close by.

Nearing the enclosure, Achilles saw that the fight consisted of one soldier against several others, a disadvantage to the lone warrior who was leaner than the others and stood shorter than most of them. However, Achilles was proven wrong when the warrior drop-kicked one of his opponents, rendering him unconscious. Another lounged at him, trying to strike him as he rose from the ground where he landed on his back from the kick. The soldier maneuvered around the edge of the sword and struck his own weapon against the other man's. Metal against metal, a loud clang reverberated throughout the ring. A struggle occurred, man pushing against man, both trying to dislodge their sword from the other to strike. The smaller man was able to move first, moving out of range of the other man's sword range before being struck. He then charged, striking quickly before the other man could react. Knocking the sword out of his opponent's hand, the man signaled defeat by raising his hands in the air and then leaving the ring. The bystanders let out a loud cheer.

"He's quick," Achilles noted. "See how he moves his feet Patroclus? They're always moving. He never keeps still and he uses his body to his advantage." Patroclus nodded in understanding, amazed by the way this soldier moved in battle. His movements were effortless and graceful all at the same time, something Patroclus had only seen in Achilles.

The man in the ring only had one opponent left, a giant in the eyes of many of the onlookers. However, instead of looking intimidated, the lone soldier grinned up at the man, surprising everyone present. The opponent made the first move, striking for the left side of the lone warrior who then moved out of reach of the blade. The fight continued for several minutes, the smaller man dodging every move made by the other. He was tiring the other man by using his lean body and quick feet to maneuver his enemy's blade while never lifting his own sword. Suddenly, the tides shifted and the soldier began a furious onslaught against his opponent, his weapon moving so swiftly through the air that no one could tell what was happening. The larger man then lay on the ground, the other soldier's blade at his throat. A loud hurrah echoed around the enclosure as the man raised his sword in victory. Achilles and Patroclus both clapped politely at the spectacle, curious as to who this soldier was.

The men's question was answered when the warrior removed his helmet. However, it was not a man at all. Achilles and Patroclus's eyes both widened in surprise. It was young woman, her hair a shocking white blond color that made her appear as if she had a halo surrounding her head. She looked no older than 15, a young age for someone who fought so well. Usually it took several years of experience before that kind of talent with a blade could be displayed. This girl was truly blessed by the gods.

Achilles looked at the girl in wonder. He also looked at her in lust, his groin hardening immediately at the sight in front of him. Her lips were perfectly plump and the dimples in her cheeks just made her that much more irresistible. Achilles body was now heated in desire, his mind swirling around with thoughts of what she would look like underneath him as she screamed his name in ecstasy.

Out of nowhere, Menelaus appeared, lifting the girl up into the air and onto his shoulder. The scene interrupted Achilles inappropriate thoughts immediately. "My daughter, the warrior," he yelled to the crowd. The girl had a beaming smile on her face as she looked down on her father. That was when Achilles realized who she was. It was Panthea, the child he saw all those years ago, the daughter of Menelaus and Helen of Sparta. She had grown quite well over the years, her body small and lithe with her womanly figure, barely visible under her armor, but she possessed the skills of a warrior. She was unlike the other women of Greece, she was a fighter and her father allowed her to partake in these activities of men, very untraditional during that time.

"Panthea," a small voice called from the entrance of the palace. Turning, Achilles saw Helen looking at her daughter, a small smile on her face. She still looked as young as when he saw her all those years ago, a goddess among women. Panthea had taken after her mother's looks and would probably retain her youthful complexion as her mother did. "It's time to come inside now. Your father has had his fun training you. We must get ready for the banquet tonight now."

"Come now woman, can't you see I'm busy showing her off," Menelaus replied, his men cheering in response. Helen frowned at his words and beckoned her daughter to come to her. Panthea fidgeted in her father's arms before he placed her on the ground. She kissed her father's cheek before exiting the ring, taking her sword and Helmet with her. However, she did not notice where she was going and before she knew it, she had walked straight into Achilles who had his back turned while talking to Patroclus and his second-in-command, Eudorus. He had stopped watching the turn of events and was discussing the terms of their stay, Achilles wanting to leave as soon as possible so he could avoid Agamemnon.

Panthea let out a small squeak as she fell, her bottom smacking the hard ground as she looked up at the man she had ran into. Her light blue-green eyes connected with his dark blue ones, and she blushed looking to the ground in embarrassment. "I'm sorry my lord," she muttered, "I wasn't looking where I was going."

A large hand came into view, and Panthea looked up at Achilles who had a blank expression on his face rather than one of hunger. He pulled her to her feet, his other hand placed lightly on her hip while the other still held her hand. "It's alright," he spoke. She nodded at him in thanks before heading towards her mother who was waiting patiently on the palace steps.

Helen's eyes bore into Achilles's as Panthea neared her, her sharp look striking right into Achilles's core. He knew that look. She was threatening him with her gaze, trying to ward him off. She knew how he was with women, her many ladies having heard about him from others. He used them and then cast them aside for the next one. None of them meant anything to him. He was a warrior and warriors did not love, they seduced women to bed them for their own pleasures. Helen did not allow loose women in her company and any woman that had had relations outside of marriage was dismissed. Many of her previous ladies had been the victims of Helen's harsh attitude because of their relations with men, whether it was Achilles, Menelaus, or others. Helen embraced her daughter lovingly before sending one last glare in his direction. The two departed, Achilles watching intently as they disappeared from sight. Little did he know Menelaus had seen both exchanges between Achilles and his women. He would have to mention this to his brother, Agamemnon.

* * *

The banquet was in full swing by mid-evening. Musicians were playing lively music and a magnificent feast had been laid out by Agamemnon's servants, the wonderful smell wafting through the air. The many torches lit up the hall in a golden hue, but the moonlight escaping past the columns cast a silver light on the marble floors. Many people were conversing in large groups, some consisting of warriors, others of court members, some of women, and sometimes even a combination of them all. Achilles stood with Odysseus and Eudorus at the far end of the hall, discussing their many battles together and the birth of Odysseus's son, Telemachus. Patroclus had disappeared early in the evening, in awe of everything around him. Helen and Panthea had yet to appear. Menelaus was mingling with the crowd as was Agamemnon with his wife Clytemnestra and eldest daughter, Iphigenia.

"Where has Patroclus gone off to? "Achilles questioned the men. He was not worried, merely interested in where the boy had run off to.

"Let the boy be Achilles. He's probably off flirting with the pretty girls. Let him have some fun." Odysseus chuckled at his words, the other two men joining in, remembering their days of youth.

"By the gods." The men turned to stare at a soldier behind them who was staring off into the distance, a love-struck expression on his face.

"I wonder what's gotten in to him," Eudorus said. The three men then followed the soldier's gaze, now realizing what the commotion had been about.

Panthea and Helen had just entered the room, Menelaus standing with his wife while his daughter stood next to them, her small hands clasped in front of her. Her white-blond hair had been braided to the side in a half-up, half-down look, her long hair cascading over her right shoulder like a waterfall. Pearls strung on a golden string had been strung into the braid part of her hair, making her look even more gorgeous. The dress she was wearing was a middle-toned purple and high-necked with golden embroidery at the collar. Slits had been cut into the sides of the dress so that her sides were completely bare to all eyes. The back of the dress left little to the imagination as well. A small piece of fabric had been left to drape down the middle of her back and connected with the rest of her dress. She couldn't have looked more beautiful in Achilles eyes. Once again, his eyes were drawn to her form.

* * *

From the corner of the room, Agamemnon looked on as Achilles watched Panthea's every move for the next hour. Achilles stalked her like a lion hunting his prey, nearing her enough so that she was always in his sights. He was drinking her, the picture of her quenching this unknown thirst of his that had appeared the moment he laid eyes on her. He didn't know what had possessed him to do this, but he couldn't help himself. He had never wanted a woman as much as he longed for Panthea.

At the stroke of midnight, Helen and Panthea both went to retire for the night, a daughter trailing after her mother in exhaustion. However, Agamemnon wanted to see how far he could test Achilles now that he discovered where his interests were. "Panthea," he spoke over the crowds, "how about you tell me of your latest vison from the gods." Everyone's head turned up at Agamemnon's words, all of them turning to stare at Panthea.

Panthea glared at her uncle in response, disliking how he mocked her. She had never liked her uncle, thinking him cruel and greedy in everything he did. It was a wonder how her aunt Clytemnestra could be married to such a man. She responded in kind, words falling from her mouth before she could think of what she was saying. "Blood, uncle. I see your blood stained on the sword of an enemy soldier." She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them.

Loud gasps erupted throughout the room. Never had anyone spoken so irrationally to their king. Agamemnon's face lit up in anger. "How dare you speak to me in that way. I am your uncle, your king."

"No. The gods are my kings." Panthea stared down at her uncle in challenge, urging him to make a move against her.

Agamemnon walked towards her, his pace quickening as he neared her. He raised his hand up in front of him, meaning to strike Panthea, but before he could, a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist before shoving him away from her.

Achilles stood in front of Panthea in a protective stance, his fiery gaze lingering on Agamemnon. "I think you've had too much wine Agamemnon. A king should not strike his niece," he spoke in a threatening tone. Turning around, he nodded his head towards the door of the hall, beckoning the women of Menelaus to leave before something drastic happened. Menelaus began to furiously yell at his brother for his behavior against his daughter and Helen dragged Panthea out of the hall, scolding her for her rash tongue. As the doors closed behind them, Panthea locked eyes with Achilles, as if she was staring right into his soul.

* * *

The gods had truly blessed Hector of Troy on this day. He stood next to the archway of his chambers, the wind blowing through the curtains as he held his newborn son, Astyanax, in his arms. Hector thought he was perfect in every way possible from his little fingers to his tiny toes. His eyes were a light blue, like Priam's, something the king of Troy delighted in. The line of Priam had been continued and the city of Troy would stand for centuries to come.

Hector's wife, Andromache, lay on their bed sleeping after the hard labor. The silk sheets were gathered around her waist, her body covered in a fresh linen nightgown. She was exhausted. Hector could tell by the dark circles under her eyes. She had been in labor for almost 12 hours, Hector standing outside the door to their chambers loyally. Whenever she screamed, he had to hold himself back from running into the room and holding her in his arms. Childbirth was the sphere of women and he could not intrude.

Hector had married Andromache five years ago at the behest of his father. He knew he would be in an arranged marriage and accepted his duty with no resistance. As the only daughter of King Eetion of Thebes in Cilicia, the match was well made and would bring more political alliances to the kingdom of Troy. Thebes would be a great ally in times of war and provided a handsome dowry for the marriage between Hector and Andromache.

Andromache was the perfect wife, dutiful, loyal, kind, and wise. Hector was hesitant when meeting her, but the two strangers became acquaintances then friends and finally lovers. It taken them a long time to conceive, but they knew the gods would answer their prayers eventually. Now when he traveled on diplomatic missions, he would not just have a wife to return to, but a son as well.

However, Hector believed something was missing from their marriage. He didn't know what, but the gods had seemed to curse him in that aspect. He loved Andromache, he truly did, but it was a not a passionate type of love. He was gentle to her as a husband should be, but Andromache never tried to council him unless need be. She never spoke up for herself. She was a traditional woman of the court, standing beside her husband and not as his equal. Hector prayed to the gods every day to relieve him of this feeling. Staring up at the sun, he wished Apollo would give him a sign, any sign as to why the gods had bestowed this fate upon him.

* * *

 **7 years earlier**

 **The Judgement of Paris**

Fair-faced Paris was the one to judge the three goddesses of Olympus. He was the one the golden apple had chosen as it was tossed into the air from Mount Olympus and onto mortal soil. Of all the goddesses, Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite engage in a battle over the divine item. Zeus took the apple from their hands and tossed it off Mount Olympus, landing at our dear Paris's feet whom was herding sheep. Each goddess then offered a gift to the youthful prince of Troy, hoping he would chose them to give the special apple to. Hera was the first to speak of the prize she would bestow upon Paris. She offered control over the entire Asia Minor, but Paris rejected her as his father is the ruler of a great country of which Paris will come to govern one day. Athena was next, presenting Paris with the power of wisdom. Arrogant in his ways, he too turned down this gift as he believed he already knew all in the world that he needed to know as a prince of Troy. Last was Aphrodite, who offered to him the love of the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen. As an immature teenage boy, Paris chose Aphrodite, inciting the hate of the other two goddesses of both himself and the city of Troy. A prophecy had been relayed to Priam and Hecuba when Paris was born, that he would be the downfall of Troy. However, Priam could not kill his own son and the child was raised as a prince of Troy. Half of what the oracle said had come to pass. His fate would be completed soon enough.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Petersen, the creator of Troy.**

 **A/N: Sorry for the delay! Finals have just passed and lord knows how stressful those are. Hello to my followers/favs: Nicole R85, Arianna Le Fay, slash95, mpowers045, page88, Toujous-Pur-XXX, cherryshrimp005, gw82, jazu10501, , anitahuggins1996, Kaschey, and living-life-on-the-edge. Hope everyone's Thanksgiving went well and happy holidays!**

 **Ch. 2**

* * *

 _AH! were she pitiful as she is fair,_

 _Or but as mild as she is seeming so,_

 _Then were my hopes greater than my despair,_

 _Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe._

 _Ah! were her heart relenting as her hand,_

 _That seems to melt even with the mildest touch,_

 _Then knew I where to seat me in a land_

 _Under wide heavens, but yet there is not such._

 _So as she shows she seems the budding rose,_

 _Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower;_

 _Sovran of beauty, like the spray she grows;_

 _Compass'd she is with thorns and canker'd flower._

 _Yet were she willing to be pluck'd and worn,_

 _She would be gather'd, though she grew on thorn._

 _Ah! when she sings, all music else be still,_

 _For none must be comparèd to her note;_

 _Ne'er breathed such glee from Philomela's bill,_

 _Nor from the morning-singer's swelling throat._

 _Ah! when she riseth from her blissful bed_

 _She comforts all the world as doth the sun,_

 _And at her sight the night's foul vapour's fled;_

 _When she is set the gladsome day is done._

 _O glorious sun, imagine me the west,_

 _Shine in my arms, and set thou in my breast!_

 _Fawnia~Robert Greene_

* * *

It was foggy, the mist clung to her skin as if it wanted to consume her. Panthea looked around at her surroundings. She could barely see a few feet in front of her, her pale fingers reaching out in front of her. She was in a forest, that much was apparent, but which one, she did not know.

A twig snapped behind her, catching her attention. She turned around to see what the culprit was. What she saw made her blood run cold. There were eyes looking at her, as if they staring straight into her soul. They were glowing, frightening her very being. She clutched her hand to her chest, backing up into a tree and sinking to the ground as she wrapped her arms around herself protectively.

The eyes came closer and closer to her, no shape or form coming into view. Only the eyes were there, haunting Panthea. She drew her legs against her body and buried her face into her arms, awaiting her fate. She dared not move and kept herself from looking up. Her body was shaking like a leaf in a storm, desperate to stay attached to a branch for fear of being ripped off. Second my second clicked by. Nothing happened.

Warmth then encased Panthea's body, frightening her more than the chill that wracked her body. Large hands gripped her shoulders, the callouses rubbing against her smooth skin. She still did not look up. A hand then gripped her chin, slowly lifting it up from her legs. Panthea kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see what stood in front of her. She shook her head back and forth violently, trying to get her chin out of the stranger's grip. "Leave me be," she screamed at her assailant.

The grip loosened on her chin. "Look up," a voice spoke softly to her. "I will not harm you my little warrior." The voice was husky and seemed familiar to Panthea, urging her to open her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Panthea did as the stranger asked. Her eyes opened. Sharp eyes met her innocent ones. The eyes of Achilles looked into those of Panthea's and the dream was broken.

* * *

A loud gasp echoed throughout Panthea's chambers as she was wrenched from her dream. She burst up into a sitting position on her bed, clutching the thin sheet between her fingers. Looking beside her, she noticed her little sister Hermione was still sleeping as well as her mother, Helen. Her awakening had done nothing to affect them. They lay there silently, their breaths evident with the rise and fall of their chests. The three had decided to sleep in the same bed tonight, Helen wanting to keep a motherly watch on her girls for the night because of the many rowdy party goers that had intoxicated themselves as Agamemnon's banquet. Panthea had conceded, wanting her mother to have a good state of mind, but she couldn't help but think it was for some other reason.

Quietly, Panthea pushed the sheet off her and maneuvered her body to the edge of the bed. Her feet hit the floor silently as she exited the bed and tiptoed across the marble floor. Making her way towards the balcony, she parted the translucent curtains before stepping outside. It was slightly chilly, especially since she was clad in a thin nightgown. It was the early hours of the morning, everything a little less dark since the sun would be rising soon. Wrapping her arms around her, she neared the wall of the balcony looking across the sky as she waited for the sunset. She couldn't go back to sleep now especially knowing what beautiful sight awaited her. She also couldn't go back to sleep because her dream. Those eyes, the eyes of Achilles, the man who came to her rescue that evening. Who was this famous Achilles really?

As the sun began to rise, a glimmer below the balcony caught Panthea's attention. Balancing her elbow on the ledge, she held her chin in her hand while the other draped over the crook of her arm. Looking down, she saw what caused the shine. The Myrmidons had awoken earlier than the other guests and were suiting up for their daily training, Achilles leading the pack. The Achaeans were nothing compared to the Myrmidons who had been raised to fight since birth. They were majestic and swift, but Achilles was their master, their god. He was the ultimate warrior.

It was at that moment that Achilles stopped in his tracks and turned his body upwards to where Panthea stood. Raising his head up, he caught her gaze. Panthea blushed, embarrassed at being caught in the act of watching him and his soldiers. She lowered her eyes and nodded to him in respect, turning around and fleeing into her room before she had seen Achilles reaction.

Achilles kept a straight face as he watched Panthea flee back into her chambers, forcing the corners of his mouth to not form into a grin. He turned abruptly and began yelling out orders to his men, his face darkening as he spoke. He kicked dust up into the air as he retreated to the training ring, his soldiers following quickly in his wake. To his warriors, it seemed as if Achilles was angered by something. However, Eudorus and Patroclus knew better. He was not angered, just frustrated at the fact that this Princess of Sparta had somehow affected him.

After Panthea had entered her chambers again, she decided to try and get a few hours of sleep before her day really began. She lay down next to her sister and mother before pulling a quilt over her and falling into a deep slumber.

When she awoke, her mother's ladies had just entered and were performing various tasks. A few had drawn a bath for the royals of Sparta to bathe in while others had picked out their outfits for the day. Her favorite lady was Alexandra, a woman in her 40s who still retained her youthful appearance and was like another mother to Panthea. Alexandra had helped Helen to raise Panthea as Helen was barely 15 when Panthea was born. Alexandra already had a few children of her own and was more than happy to help the princess of Sparta with her firstborn child. She helped Helen to learn the ways of motherhood while she too cared for younger two children in the Spartan palace.

"It is time to rise for the day child," Alexandra spoke softly to Panthea as she came and brushed Panthea's hair off her forehead. "We must get you and your mother ready for the day."

Panthea nodded in understanding, wiping the sleep out of her eyes and stretching in bed before rising to a sitting position. Helen was already at her vanity table, brushing out her golden locks. Hermione still lay asleep in bed, her forearm covering her eyes and her legs tangled in the sheets. Panthea smiled at the sight before getting out of bed and stripping naked. Her nightgown fell to the floor in a heap and she walked into the bathing room of the chambers to wash. She was used to being nude in front of her mother's ladies from a young age as she was a princess and so it did not bother her.

Stepping into the bath, Panthea's feet hit the cool tiles at the bottom of the tub and she shivered at the contact. The water was steaming, just the way she liked it, and she began to choose from the many assortments of oils and soaps her mother's ladies were showing her. Picking a few out, she poured them into her hair and rubbed them over her body before rinsing off and ascending from the tub.

Alexandra held out a towel for the princess to wrap her body in and then led the her back into the main chamber as Helen and her switched places. While her mother was bathing, Panthea was dressed in a simple, but elegant white dress. It was clasped over one shoulder with a gold pin while her other shoulder was left bare. Two golden bracelets were put on her wrists and gold earrings were put in her ears. Her mother's ladies arranged her hair in a delicate braid that lay over her bare shoulder while smaller braids were also arranged in her hair that led to the main braid. A few stray locks were left to frame her face. No crown was placed in her. She didn't want to wear one anyways.

Looking to the side, she noticed that her mother was ready as well. Helen was dressed in a similar outfit but with gold trimmings on the fabric and a golden pattern on the dress. Her mother wore her hair down as she always did, her curls cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall. A gold crown was put in her hair to represent her status as Queen of Sparta.

Rising from her position at her vanity, Helen held her hand out to her oldest daughter. "Come. Let us go and see your aunt." Panthea grasped her mother's hand lightly and the two exited the room, saying their goodbyes to Hermione who was just getting prepared for the day. She would have her lessons in the room with Alexandra and would then spend time with her cousins.

The two women of Sparta headed towards their destination, many courtiers bowing as they passed. Their feet lightly sounded throughout the halls of the Mycenaean palace as well as their ladies who followed closely behind. Soon, they reached Clytemnestra's chambers. Panthea groaned inwardly. Another day inside the palace was torture for her, but she would have to deal with it for her mother's sake. She could only spend so much time with her father as her training was met with disapproval by many. Helen was set on disproving those rumors and tried to demonstrate her daughter's lady-like qualities by keeping her locked inside all day and teaching her the ways of running a household, motherhood, and more. But to no avail, Panthea was unlike other princesses of her time and proved that to her parents at every waking moment.

* * *

It was a few weeks before Panthea was released from her so-called prison, smiling brightly and skipping as she descended the palace steps and entered the royal stables. Helen followed her, laughing at her daughter's behavior. The only reason she had let Panthea out of the palace was because of Menelaus's request. He had organized a hunt and wished his daughter and wife to both be at his side that day. Helen was wary at first, not liking when the attention was on her daughter. She had noticed the many looks the Greek men were giving her daughter and she wanted to shelter Panthea from their gazes. They knew better than to look at Helen or else they would be at the receiving end of Menelaus's anger. However, she had changed her mind when Panthea had begged for hours. Not wanting to disappoint her daughter, she gave in easily and was gifted with a happy embrace from her daughter.

Walking across the palace grounds, she watched after her daughter protectively, her eyes drifting towards the practice ring to see if anyone had noticed their arrival. Guards walked behind her diligently, entrusted in watching over the Queen and Princess of Sparta to make sure they were never in danger. Helen's eyes hardened in a glare when she realized the Myrmidon, Achilles, was studying Panthea attentively. He had turned away from the ring when he saw Panthea's white blond hair out of the corner of her eyes. His head only shifted slightly to the side to not be noticeable. His eyes followed her every movement, noted every step, and watched every breath she took as she walked past him, not even sparing a glance. She was too caught up in her own thoughts to notice him, even after she had dreamed of him.

Helen swept past him snottily, raising her head up in the air and staring down her nose at him. She was trying to ward him off. Achilles only smiled and nodded his head respectfully at her, not caring that she had caught him the act. He turned his attention back to the sparring match. Menelaus overpowered another opponent, knocking him off his feet and holding his sword at his throat. He let out a victorious roar, the men joining in.

Panthea paid no mind to the men, walking through the stables and passing every stall before she reached the correct one. Her father had gifted her a stallion when she had turned 10 years old. He was wild, untamable to all until he passed into the hands of Panthea. Helen had worried at first, livid that her husband would allow their daughter to ride such a beast. However, Panthea had proved them wrong when she was seen riding barefoot on the stallion in the early hours of the morning the day after she picked him out. She waved up at her parents shocked expressions as she rode by them, the stallion neighing as Panthea spurred him into a gallop. Only Panthea could control the steed. No one else dared to. She named him Apollis, after the god of the sun, Apollo, because of his golden coat that shined in the sun when he had been groomed his best.

Opening the stall door, Panthea giggled as Apollis nuzzled against her shoulder. He was looking for his favorite treat, apples. Panthea held one out to him while stroking his mane lovingly. The steed ate it quickly, snorting in approval. Asking the stable hand for a brush, she began to groom her stallion as he munched on his hay happily.

Helen appeared, stroking the steed's forehead lightly over the stall door. Unlike with men, Apollis enjoyed the company of women far. They were gentle and calming, the opposite of some of the men who were warriors through and through. Perhaps that was why he had taken a liking so quickly to Panthea.

Several men soon joined the women in the stables, some of them warriors who were preparing their steeds personally while others were stable hands or servants tacking up horses for their masters. Panthea liked to perform the task herself as it was enjoyable and calmed her mind. Finished with tacking Apollis, she pulled the reins over his head and opened the stall door. She beckoned Apollis to follow. Walking out of the stall, she retreated down the length of the stable, Apollis following behind loyally. Panthea didn't even have to hold him by the bridle. Men watched in awe as the huge stallion followed his mistress, nibbling at her as he walked behind her. She giggled in amusement.

The pair exited the stable, blinded by the sunlight for a moment as their eyes adjusted to the glare. Spotting her mother, she skipped over to her, Apollis still following. Helen was riding her grey mare today, an older horse that was known for its tranquil nature. She had received the horse as a gift from Menelaus on their wedding day. The mare was one of the only horses that Apollis got along with. He was too aggressive with the other stallions to be put in a pen with them, so he often was isolated in his own field or put in a meadow with some of the older mares, Helen's horse being one of them. The stallion nickered to the mare in greeting and stopped beside her as both women mounted their horses.

Panthea was graceful in her movements, swinging into the saddle by herself, unlike her mother who was helped by Menelaus into the saddle. Adjusting her position, she griped the reins tightly in her hands and waited for her father to mount his own horse.

"And how is my goddess this morning?" questioned Menelaus as he mounted his steed. Panthea blushed at the comment, embarrassed her father had called her that in front of the others.

"I am well father, but do not insult the gods father. I am no goddess," Panthea spoke.

Menelaus let out a hearty laugh. "You are to me daughter. Do not worry. I will pray to the gods later for forgiveness." He winked teasingly at her. Unlike other men who treated their daughters and wives as property, Menelaus saw his daughter as an equal. He raised her like the son he never had and she had blossomed before his eyes. She was a gift from the gods, he had decided that from the moment he held her in his hands.

Agamemnon was appalled at his brother's behavior, but never said anything. His brother could do anything he liked as King of Sparta, but he still feared the potential of Panthea. She was different than all the other women of Greece and he did not like that at all. He believed women should be subordinate and only belonged in the bedchamber. However, Menelaus did not think of his eldest daughter that way at all. She was his favorite, his heir, and nothing anyone said would sway his opinion of his daughter. Helen was grateful for that, knowing that Panthea had something to do with her husband's apologies after they had fought. Panthea was a barrier between them, shielding her mother from her father's anger and Helen was forever thankful that the gods had given her daughter to her. She loved Hermione dearly, but Panthea was her special girl.

* * *

The hunt began soon enough, Menelaus riding in the front. Panthea stayed neared her father, eager for the hunt ahead, while Helen remained in the middle of the group with her guards. They were the only two women present as women rarely engaged in the pastimes of men unless their husbands allowed it.

The hounds picked up a scent quickly, directing the group to where a herd of deer was darting through the trees. The horses were all spurred into a gallop by their riders, excited by the commotion going on. Panthea was at the front of her group, her bow and arrow having been pulled from her saddle when she spotted the deer. She looked like Artemis as she strung her bow; her thighs directed Apollis towards her prey, her was hair blowing in the wind, her lips pulled back in a thin line as she concentrated on the task. As she moved closer and closer, she tightened her grip on the string, waiting for the precise moment on when she should release the arrow.

Suddenly, out of nowhere an arrow flew past Panthea's head and embedded itself in a tree directly in front of her. Helen let out a bloodcurdling scream when she saw this, her guards forming a protective circle around their queen. She called out to Panthea, wanting her daughter to be with her. Whoever had shot that arrow was not a part of the hunt's company and the group came to realize this quickly.

Menelaus began shouting out commands, ordering the men to get into a battle formation. Achilles was among them, yelling to his Myrmidons in response to Menelaus. He had seen the arrow fly past Panthea's head and the sight spurred him into action. He drew his sword from its sheath and held his shield in front of him. All his men had brought their weapons with them at the request of Achilles. One could never be too prepared for battle.

When the arrow had flown past Panthea, her blood ran cold. She lowered her bow and arrow and pulled the reins, signaling Apollis to halt. He reared up into the air, noticing the danger his mistress was in, and darted back towards the company. However, before she could reach them, a mob of men emerged from the trees. They were carrying spears, swords shields, clubs, and any other weapons imaginable. They could have been robbers, thieves waiting for the right moment to strike, but they weren't. This was a planned ambush by one of Agamemnon's many enemies and Panthea was the main target.

Some circled her, while others went to fight the others, putting up a defense so their main group could grab Panthea. She only had her bow, but it would do her little good. They surrounded her trying to grab the reins of her horse as Apollis kept biting and lunging at the enemies. He was determined to not let anyone touch his mistress.

It was then that Achilles made his way through the pack, some of his Myrmidons following faithfully behind him on their own steeds. Menelaus and the rest of the group were holding their own. He struck each man down easily, his strength evident in each strike. He had a thirst for battle, a want for blood. Sweat dripped across his forehead as he delivered blow after blow, his war cry resounding throughout the forest. He looked up to see Panthea still on her horse, but barely. Two men were pulling her off Apollis, the stallion rearing up in anger as he realized what was happening. Panthea clung to his neck, screaming in horror as she tried to get away from her assailants.

It was then that Eudorus threw a spear at one of the men, eliciting a cry of pain from him as he fell to the forest floor. The spear had entered the man's throat, blood pouring out of the wound as the man's life began to fade away. The other man, frightened he would meet the same fate, let go of Panthea, bruises appearing on her arms and legs where the men had let go. He ran back into the woods where his comrades had emerged from.

Panthea was crying, hot tears streaming down her face. With her sword, she would have been able to defend herself better than the bow and arrows that been knocked away from her. She had never felt so violated in her life. Her dress had been torn in several places, barely holding together at the top. Bruises littered her body where the men had grabbed her roughly, some a light yellow while others were already turning purple. She pulled herself back into the saddle, shaking as she clung to Apollis.

Finishing off his last victim, Achilles wrenched his sword from the man's stomach and looked up to view the carnage around him. Blood stained his face and covered his armor. Others had the same appearance he did. Mutilate bodies covered the forest floor. Few survivors of the opposing group remained, many of them injured or dispersing into the trees.

Panthea had been surrounded by the many Myrmidons, protecting her if another wave of enemies appeared. Achilles directed his stallion towards her, making his way through his men to her. "Are you alright my lady?" he questioned, his eyes scanning her body for any injuries. He fists tightened in fury when he saw the many bruises and the state of her dress. She had wrapped her arms around herself in fear, her eyes darting around anxiously. Tears stained her face and she nodded her head in response to his question.

Achilles leaned forward, placing his hand on her shoulder. Panthea's eyes connected with his and she began to cry again, the aftershock of the event running through her mind and body. She launched herself at him, clinging to him for dear life. Achilles was surprised at first, but once he got over the shock, he wrapped his arms around her and began murmuring comforting words into her ears, trying to calm her. The Myrmidons all grinned cheekily at the sight, especially Eudorus and Patroclus.

Achilles just shook his head at them, knowing what they were thinking. He had no need to treat her as he had the women before her. She was different, not an item to possess and cast aside when he got bored.

Achilles adjusted his as well as Panthea's position in the saddle, shifting his weight backwards so he could make room for her. Apollis snorted when he felt his mistress's weight leave him, looking to her as she was transferred to Achille's saddle. He shifted her hands from around his neck to around his waist so it would be more comfortable for the both of them. She moved even closer to him, burying her face in his chest. She didn't care about the blood whatsoever. She just wanted to feel safe and secure in Achille's arms. She didn't know why she went to him. It just felt right to her.

Holding Panthea safely in his arms, Achilles steered his horse towards Menelaus and the rest of the group. Menelaus nodded at Achilles in thanks and went to grab Panthea from his arms, but she wouldn't budge. She buried herself more in Achille's embrace.

"Panthea, are you hurt? Why don't you come to me? Your mother is hysterical and wants to see you." Menelaus spoke in soft tones to his daughter, not wanting to scare her. He was worried something had happened to her, but when he saw Achilles, he knew she was in good hands. Panthea only shook her head and Menelaus frowned. "Panthea" he said again, this time in a firmer voice. She still didn't move. Menelaus looked to Achilles. "It seems she's quite attached to you. Would you mind if she rode back to the palace with you?"

Achilles shook his head. "No, my lord. I do not mind." He gazed down at Panthea as he tightened her arms around her. "I would only like to guarantee her safety." He spoke firmly and to the point, his eyes softening as he kept all attention on Panthea.

Menelaus raised his eyebrows, looking back and forth between Achilles and Panthea. "Very well," he said gruffly, not comfortable with the attention Panthea was receiving. He turned his horse towards Helen and informed her of what was happening. Helen protested against her husband, wanting Panthea nowhere near the famous warrior. Menelaus roughly grabbed her arm, whispering in ear to be quiet. She shook his arm from his grip and glared up at her husband before giving Achilles the same look. He didn't notice it though. He was conversing with Panthea, rubbing her back soothingly.

Achilles was acting so unlike the cruel beast he was. Mercy was never on his agenda nor did he ever show any signs of sympathy whether it was for an enemy or a woman he had bedded. He was steel, cold-hearted, the illusive warrior everyone envied. Only his true friends were witness to his feelings. Panthea was different though. She pulled at his heart strings like no other woman did and he wasn't sure why. The gods all plan their fates and he wasn't about to question it.

* * *

The company made their way to the palace, adrenaline running through their veins after the event that had just happened. As they neared the palace steps, Achilles tried to dislodge the Spartan Princess from his arms, but she was stubborn. She wouldn't move an inch. She was like green ivy that clung to an oak during the summer months. He chuckled at her antics and halted his horse. Dismounting, he still held Panthea in his arms but bridal style.

Helen came to stand in front of him, trying to urge Panthea out of his arms. She switched back and forth between her motherly gaze on Panthea and her sharp glare at Achilles. Panthea finally yielded, loosening her grip around Achille's neck. He lowered her to the floor slowly, making sure she held her balance. Panthea placed her hands on his shoulders so she wouldn't fall, the numbness in her legs disappearing. She backed away from him slowly when she thought the feeling in her legs had returned.

Panthea's eyes were glued to the ground as Helen wrapped her arms around her daughter, smoothing her hair down and pressing kisses to her forehead. Panthea led her mother fawn over her, having no energy to speak up against her behavior. Achilles watched them intently, making sure Panthea would be fine and was not traumatized after the encounter. Helen gave Achilles one final glower, then escorted her daughter back to her chambers, her arms still draped around Panthea. However, she couldn't stop Panthea from sending Achilles one final glance. Her eyes called to him as she walked away, beckoning Achilles to follow.

* * *

Cassandra was ranting again, this time about a princess of fire who was covered in snow. Hector didn't know what it meant, no one did. Ever since Cassandra had become a priestess of Apollo, she had changed. One day she went to perform her duties to Apollo, and the guards came back with her in the evening with her writhing and screaming about being chased by the god who wanted to have her. She refused him and somehow, he cursed her. Most ignored her behavior, but Hector as well as his parents and a few others were concerned for the princess of Troy.

Cassandra was not the same happy child she was 12 years ago; she was paranoid, delusional, and most importantly, she spoke nonsense that was concerning for her future. Who would want to marry a Trojan princess that talked in riddles and acted odd at all hours? No one. Hector knew his parents were worried about what would happen to her when they were gone, but he would care for her. Always. She was his little sister and he would do anything in his power to help her.

Rising from his position next to his father's throne, he bid Priam and Hecuba goodnight before departing to his chambers. Andromache was there with their son, Astyanax, who had been born a few weeks ago. She was still recovering from the birth, having lost a lot of blood. She was gaining her strength back day by day though and soon she would be able to take walks around the palace grounds.

The hall was lively with the evening meal going on. Paris was flirting with yet another courtier, probably convincing her to return with him to his chambers that night. Hector rolled his eyes at the scene. It seemed Paris would never grow out of his old ways.

Quickly departing the room, Hector made his way down the hall, his powerful steps echoing off the walls. Thunder could be heard throughout the night air and lightning danced across the sky. The almighty Zeus of Olympus was once again planning the fates of the mortals below.

* * *

 **A/N: To clear up confusion, Achaeans is another word for Greeks. Hope you guys liked the chapter! I will try to have another one up this weekend.**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Petersen.**

 **A/N: Next chapter is up! Hope you enjoy.**

 **Ch. 3**

* * *

 _IN heaven-high musings and many,_

 _Far-seeking and deep debate,_

 _Of strong things find I not any_

 _That is as the strength of Fate._

 _Help nor healing is told_

 _In soothsayings uttered of old,_

 _In the Thracian runes, the verses_

 _Engraven of Orpheus' pen;_

 _No balm of virtue to save_

 _Apollo aforetime gave,_

 _Who stayeth with tender mercies_

 _The plagues of the children of men._

 _She hath not her habitation_

 _In temples that hands have wrought;_

 _Him that bringeth oblation,_

 _Behold, she heedeth him naught._

 _Be thou not wroth with us more,_

 _O mistress, than heretofore;_

 _For what God willeth soever,_

 _That thou bringest to be;_

 _Thou breakest in sunder the brand_

 _Far forged in the Iron Land;_

 _Thine heart is cruel, and never_

 _Came pity anigh unto thee._

 _Thee, too, O King, hath she taken_

 _And bound in her tenfold chain;_

 _Yet faint not, neither complain:_

 _The dead thou wilt no awaken_

 _For all thy weeping again._

 _They perish, whom gods begot;_

 _The night releaseth them not._

 _Beloved was she that died_

 _And dear shall ever abide,_

 _For this was the queen among women,_

 _Admetus, that lay by thy side._

 _Not as the multitude lowly_

 _Asleep in their sepulchres,_

 _Not as their grave be hers,_

 _But like as the gods held holy,_

 _The worship of wayfarers._

 _Yea, all that travel the way_

 _Far off shall see it and say,_

 _Lo, erst for her lord she died,_

 _To-day she sitteth enskied;_

 _Hail, lady, be gracious to usward;_

 _That always her honor abide._

 _~The Strength of Fate, Aeschylus_

* * *

"So.." spoke Zeus to the other gods and goddesses of Olympus who sat in council that morning, Apollo having performed his duties, dragging the sun up to its height while the moon was pulled back into the ocean, "What news of our champion?" He looked towards Athena and Apollo for answers as they were Panthea's patrons.

The two siblings looked between each other, asking silently who would speak first. Athena nodded, telling her younger brother she would tell their supreme father what had been occurring. She stood up from her chair, nodding her head respectfully to her father. "My lord, there has been much progress with Panthea. She has grown quite well, being taught in all subjects such as politics, philosophy, warfare, literature, law, music, and more. Menelaus has taught her to be a warrior unlike the other women of Greece. He treats her as his equal and has deemed her his heir even though he may still have sons by Helen. Helen dotes on her daughter, but she tries to reign her in. She wants Panthea to be a lady and nothing more."

Zeus nodded thoughtfully at Athena, beckoning her to continue.

"We have sent her visions as well father, to inform her of the mission we have bestowed upon her. She didn't quite understand them when we first sent them. She was frightened, the visions first appearing at the early age of three." She frowned at her brother. "Apollo was a little too eager." Apollo had the decency to look embarrassed, but still grinned at his elder sister. "We tried again a few years later. She was curious, not scared anymore. Apollo enabled both of us to visit her dreams and speak to her. We gained her trust while she slept, becoming her friends that any child would want. Once she reached the age of 12, we revealed to her what her true purpose was in life. Instead of being shocked, Panthea only smiled. It seemed as if she had known the entire time. She is intelligent father, much more than we expected."

Zeus grinned at Athena's comment. "Of course, she is. She is my granddaughter. What child of Zeus would not be knowledgeable?" He was proud, that much was evident. Hera scowled beside him, not enjoying the attention her husband's past dalliances were receiving. She had tried everything in her power to eliminate the women whom she considered her enemies, but it never truly worked. Zeus would be angered at her actions as well as his children, some of which resided on Olympus with him and were the products of Zeus and his mistresses. She felt slighted, angered that Zeus thought he could continue to stray from her. Hera had accepted her fate though, choosing to cause havoc for her enemies rather than protest her husband's actions any more than she already had. It was no use.

"Father," Apollo said. Zeus turned to look at his golden son. "There has also been another development. Achilles has become enamored with her. He protected her today when they were ambushed and she clung to his side the entire time." He grinned at Zeus before smirking at his so-called stepmother. Hera rolled her eyes at his antics.

"Really? Well this is a turn of events, though not for the worse. We can use this to our advantage. Achilles is already against Agamemnon. Panthea will add to that." Athena and Apollo both nodded at Zeus's words as well as the other gods and goddesses. "The House of Atreus will soon be destroyed and Panthea will rule in their stead. Now let us end our council. I have matters to attend to." Rising from his throne, Zeus exited the council chambers, the others bowing as he departed.

As soon as Zeus as disappeared, Hera turned to speak to her stepchildren, spitting out the words in disgust. "Just because Achilles desires the girl does not mean anything. Thetis will hear of this and will dissuade her son from his actions. I can assure of that. That man deserves more than some trollop. Anyways, if he haves her, who's to say he will want to keep her? Achilles has no time for women. He has displayed that notion over and over again."

"You hold your vile tongue Hera. Unlike father, Panthea can hold a man's attention far longer than you can." Apollo seethed in anger as he yelled the insult at Hera. He had become fond of the girl, she was his niece after all. Athena and Artemis both had to hold their brother back before he said anything rasher than he already had. Hephaestus stood by his mother's side as well as Ares, both glowering at their brother. Aphrodite, Hestia, Dionysus, and Demeter stood between the feuding pairs and Poseidon had exited once he saw things were about to get heated up. He wanted no part in the matter.

"Enough of this nonsense. Let's all depart and forget this matter," Demeter spoke. She was always the negotiator of things, mediating between the gods. Apollo nodded at his father's other consort, being able to tolerate her far more than Hera. He quickly left the room, his two sisters following in his wake. The matter had been settled for now, but there was no telling when Hera would bring it up again.

Zeus had viewed the argument, having settled in the alcove above in one of his many forms: an eagle. He was disappointed at what had occurred, Hera having let her emotions take over her again. Apollo had been wrong too, but Zeus sympathized with him. Panthea was his granddaughter as she was Apollo's niece and Hera would have to get used to it. Zeus would not apologize for his escapades, he was a man after all, an immortal god, and Hera was not the best of wives herself.

Taking off from his perch, Zeus made the trip from Olympus to the mortal world below. He would have to see Panthea for himself. He could not always rely on everything his children told him. He needed to see things for himself sometimes.

Soaring through the open sky, he looked down with his bird's eye view, scanning the ground for the Mycenaean palace. Finding his destination, he flew down swiftly until he came to a balcony, Panthea's balcony to me more specific. Landing on the ledge, he spotted Helen's ladies packing. Apparently, they would be returning to Sparta after the ordeal that had occurred.

Looking more closely, he saw Helen cradling Panthea in her arms. Panthea was crying silently, small tears falling down her cheeks. She every right to. No girl should have to go through that type of ordeal and be manhandled by complete strangers, many of whom would have raped her if they had completed their mission. Zeus cringed at the thought. He would never let that happen to his champion. Perhaps he would need Apollo and Athena to watch her more closely. They had been watching her enough, more than he commanded, but if something like this were to happen again, he would like them to intervene, being clouded by achlys to avoid being seen directly. Only Panthea would be able to see them, no one else.

Zeus observed the pair for a few more moments, noting the differences between mother and daughter. They both had the same eyes although Panthea's had a slight green tint to them, just as Zeus's did. While Helen had golden curls, Panthea's were white-blond. Helen's skin was bronze while Panthea's was a pale white no matter how much time she spent outside. They were truly opposites, but both had their own beauty.

Taking one last look, Zeus departed from his spot and flew towards the sun as he traveled his way back to Olympus.

* * *

The next morning, just as the sun began to rise over the horizon, casting its shades of pinks, reds, oranges, and yellows across the sky and ground, Menelaus and his retinue left for his kingdom of Sparta. Helen was glad to leave, wanting to be nowhere near Agamemnon anymore. She hated the man and only tolerated him for her sister's sake. He was cruel, greedy, and a menace, something she could not stand. Her husband could be cruel too, although it had to do with marriage matters rather than taking over the entire world. Agamemnon always had to brag about how he conquered the world. He did not such thing, merely used other men to achieve his goals. Helen was sickened at the thought that one day he could use her Panthea for his goals and she shuddered at the thought.

Looking over at her daughter in the lavish carriage they were riding, she noticed Panthea's downcast face. She was still disturbed by the events that had taken place two days ago. Grabbing Panthea's hand, Helen pressed a small kiss to it and gestured for Panthea to lie on her lap. Panthea conceded to her mother's request, laying her head down softly in her mother's lap as she began to stroke her hair and sing a lullaby to her.

Sitting across from them was Alexandra and Hermione, who was already sleeping. Her nine-year-old self was not used to waking up so early and she had drifted back off to sleep as soon as the journey began. Helen smiled at the sight before returning her attention back to her eldest daughter.

It was then that Menelaus had decided to announce his presence, clearing his throat as he rode next to the window of the carriage on his gallant steed. He looked like a hulking monster on the horse, a rough beard covering his face and scars all over his body. "Is she alright?" he questioned softly, not wanting to disturb his daughters.

"She is fine," Helen responded, "but she is still uneasy."

"I thought so." Menelaus was still concerned for Panthea, knowing the event had probably shook her to the core. It would take a lot of coaxing before Panthea would join Menelaus on a hunt or even in training again. Perhaps even taking walks outside with her mother would be a problem now. It seemed as if Panthea just wanted to coup herself up inside all day and keep to herself.

"I've arranged for you, Panthea, and Hermione to have more guards while you're out or even when you are only in your chambers. I don't want anything like this to happen again. Agamemnon's affairs are not my wife's and children's problems, but mine. Men should know that."

"Thank you my lord," Helen replied. "I appreciate it very much." She was grateful that her husband still cared enough to grant protection for herself rather than just for their children.

Menelaus nodded at her words before speaking again. "I also have something else to tell you." He looked to Helen for any signs he had upset her. She showed none, but kept silent. "Achilles will be joining us in Sparta. He will be our guest for a few weeks. He inquired after Panthea's health and wished to make sure she is alright. He has also asked if his cousin Patroclus and her could be introduced. They are about the same age and perhaps we could make a match between the two."

Helen was seething as she heard her husband. "No, I won't allow it. I don't want that man anywhere near Panthea. Don't you see what he's doing? He's playing you. He doesn't want Patroclus to meet her, he wants her for himself. Don't you see the way he looks at her, how all the men look at her? I want a say in who her husband is. And I say Achilles will not be the man. He may not even want her in that way. He may just take her and leave her like he does all those other women…."

Helen was cut off by the gruff voice of Menelaus. "I will not have you speak against that man in any way. He's a fine warrior and whether he wants her or not is not your business. I will take of this. And if I deem the match worthy, then it is so. You will not speak against me woman." The conversation was ended then because Menelaus had spurred his horse forward. Helen sighed in frustration. She would do everything in her power to keep Achilles away from Panthea, even if it meant angering her husband in the process. She would do it.

Helen continued stroking her eldest daughter's hair, trying not to seem upset at Menelaus's actions. Little did she know Panthea had heard the entire conversation. She didn't know what to think of her father's or her mother's words for that matter. Menelaus had never seemed so angry at Helen, but then again Panthea was always sheltered from that. She knew Helen cared for her future, but the fact that her mother detested Achilles as much as she did was concerning. She never thought of that man as a womanizer. She hadn't been around him that much so of course she wouldn't know. Now her opinion of him changed. Perhaps Helen was right. She needed to stay away from Achilles. Maybe the dream she had was a warning from the gods and no one should ever take a message from the gods lightly.

* * *

Achilles and his Myrmidons had returned to the island of Aegina shortly after Menelaus and his retinue had departed for Sparta. He had watched as they left, noting how Panthea would not meet his eye as she sat in her carriage. She was determined to not look at him and he grinned at her stubborn nature. He knew that she knew he was there. He always practiced with his men in the early hours of the morning. He had often caught her watching him from her balcony when she thought he didn't notice.

Achilles would see her soon enough though. He had arranged a stay with Menelaus, wanting to make sure no other man had spoken for her first. He wanted her and no one else would have her. He had seen the way several men had looked at her, his men included, and wanted nothing more than to gut them out and watch as their blood spilled onto the ground. He often had to keep his temper in check, knowing he could not seem obvious. That would make him seem less like an invincible warrior and more like a love-struck teenager.

Walking barefoot along the shores of the beach, he watched as the waves washed up on the shore and then retreated into Poseidon's domain. He had loved coming here as a boy, his mother Thetis always making him seashell necklaces and watching him as he played in the shallow depths of the water. She was sea nymph, one of Zeus's favorite as his father, Peleus, had told him. She had been arranged to marry Zeus before his own father, but due to some complications he knew nothing about, Thetis had been bestowed to Peleus. The two had married and had been blessed with their only child, Achilles, but because of Thetis's attempts to make her son immortal, the pair had separated early in Achille's life. His mother appeared only when she deemed fit and his father rarely saw him as he sent Achilles to be trained by Chiron from early childhood to adulthood and the fact he had Aegina to manage as its leader.

Gathering his thoughts, Achilles continued his trek along the shore, his blue chiton blowing in the wind. War was all he had looked forward to in life and now he had something more than lust for blood, he held desire for a woman that he didn't just want to bed. He wanted to know her, be in her presence, feel her touch on his skin. He shivered at the thought before he could catch himself. He needed to get a grip on his emotions. He cursed Aphrodite and Eros internally, the goddess of love and her son certainly had something to do with this new development. Perhaps Eros had struck him with an arrow or the illustrious goddess had cast some sort of spell. Whatever the cause, the invincible Achilles now had a weakness: Princess Panthea of Sparta.

* * *

The princes of Troy were in one of the many palace gardens practicing their archery for the day while the women were lounging on chaises and were fanned by the Trojan servants and slave girls. Paris excelled at archery and was showing off for the ladies of the court while Hector remained modest and concentrated on the task at hand.

Andromache had finally been able to come out of their chambers and was happily bouncing Astyanax on her lap as she watched her husband practice. Hecuba and several of her daughters had surrounded the pair and were cooing at the baby. Astyanax was about six weeks old now and was just starting to smile at everything. His blue eyes were always filled with curiosity and the dark tuft of hair reminded Hector of the blackest nights.

Priam was overjoyed with the birth of his grandson and doted on him as any grandfather would. He would parade him around the hall, chuckling as he lifted the babe over his head to show all his courtiers the second-in-line to his throne, his son's future successor. The line of Priam was strong and appeared to be everlasting. The walls of Troy would stand forever and be remembered as the greatest city of the Aegean Sea.

Stringing another arrow, Hector tightened the string to its potential and fired another arrow, hitting just below where the heart of the enemy would be. The witnesses clapped at his display, proud of their crown prince. However, Paris also shot an arrow and overshadowed his brother's performance, the arrow hitting directly between the eyes of the target. The applause became louder and cheering could be heard. Hector just chuckled. Paris was the better archer of the two, but Hector was the all-around warrior, leader of the Trojan troops.

Placing his bow back on the rack where the others resided, Hector signaled his defeat to Paris who grinned cheekily at his elder brother. Walking over to Andromache, he lifted his son out of her lap and held him in his arms. Astyanax smiled up at his father and reached for his nose to grasp with his tiny fingers. Hector laughed at the gesture, placing a kiss on his son's forehead before returning him to his mother, whom he also kissed.

Settling down beside her, Hector stroked his wife's back while they continued to watch Paris practice. His father then emerged from the palace, everyone rising to their feet to bow to the king of Troy. Priam came to stand in front of Paris and patted him on the back before greeting Hecuba with a kiss on the lips. He finally came to stand in front of Hector and sat down beside his son. "I wished to speak with you, but it is such a fine day that perhaps we should sit outside and talk." Hector nodded at his father's words, gesturing for them to depart to a more quitter part of the garden. He gave Andromache a swift kiss before he led Priam to a secluded area.

The sun beat down on the pair as they walked through a deserted part of the garden, taking in the fresh air and enjoying their surroundings. "I shall have to send you on another siege. Our enemies have fathered at the northern borders again. At first it was just simple disputes, but now total chaos has happened. I need you to end this before we lose any more men."

"Of course, father," Hector said to his father. He was used to being sent to war, but now that he had a child, Hector wished he could put aside his princely duties and spend more time with his family.

"You shall have to leave in three days' time. Perhaps bringing Paris would be a good idea. The lad has yet to participate in war. It's time he shows his use to the people of Troy."

"Father, I doubt that is a good idea. Paris isn't one for war, you know that. If you want me to bring him, he will be put with the archers or watch as a spectator. You don't need to lose a son to battle." Hector looked as his father for any emotions that could appear on his face. Priam held none. He was always hard to read, his face impassive.

"Paris may not be one for war, but that is because he has never been in a war. It's time for him to at least experience something Hector. When I am gone, you two will defend Troy from our enemies on your own. I want my sons to be strong, to be able to hold themselves against our opponents. Paris will go, whether he fights or not."

Hector sighed at his father's words, but nodded in obedience. Paris would go whether he liked it or not. Their father commanded it and what he ordered would always be listened to.

* * *

Menelaus and his Spartan retinue arrived in their homeland almost a week after their journey began. Panthea was glad to be home. She enjoyed traveling, but not when she had to stay in a carriage the entire time. It was boring and there was very little to do except reading or sewing. Often, Panthea would just look up at the sky and day dream for hours on end. It was better than sleeping and she had many things to think about on the journey, including Achilles.

The man was a mystery to Panthea. He evaded her thoughts several times a day and she had to catch herself from asking her mother questions about him to not make her angry. She had heard stories of the man since she was a little girl. He was a ruthless warrior, famed for his glory on the battlefield. Nothing else was ever said of him unless her mother's ladies were gossiping about the eligible warriors or their latest escapades with other court women.

Helen gossiped as well, although she heard rumors rather than started them. She was never one to get too involved, although she liked to listen for Panthea's sake. She could never be too careful with watching what the men or other women of the court thought of her daughter.

As the so-called daughter of Zeus, Helen attracted attention not just because of her beauty, but her parentage as well. Tyndareus was her adoptive father and to ensure his daughter's wellbeing, her dowry had been the kingdom of Sparta. Many men had vied for Helen's hand, Theseus of Athens and Pirithous of the Lapiths being two of those men. They had even abducted Helen and kept her captive at Aphidna with Theseus's mother, Aethra, while the two men journeyed to the underworld to try to kidnap Persephone, bride of Hades. Both were kept prisoner by Hades, but Theseus was rescued by Heracles while Pirithous remained in the underworld to suffer his punishment: his bottom being glued to a rock for all eternity. When Theseus returned, his mother and Helen had been taken by the Dioscuri and returned to Sparta where Helen became betrothed to Menelaus. Helen would never wish the same fate on her daughter and to avoid the same thing happening to his daughter as it did to his wife, Menelaus enlisted extra guards just for Panthea's safety.

Exiting the carriage, Panthea was finally able to stretch her legs out after such a long time in the carriage. She hated being confined, but Menelaus and Helen had both insisted she should stay inside the carriage. Apollis had been tethered to the contraption and seeing his mistress, he let out a little whinny to get her attention. Walking over to her stallion. Panthea stroked his forehead softly and pressed a kiss to his puzzle.

"I'm sorry I haven't ridden you for so long. I promise we will go on some rides soon," Panthea spoke. Apollis nodded his head eagerly and rubbed against his mistress, making her giggle at his actions. A stable hand then appeared, one of the younger boys whom Panthea trusted to take care of her steed. She handed Apollis over to the boy and patted his head as he led the horse to the stable.

Coming up behind her, Helen grabbed her daughter's hand before pulling her inside the Spartan palace along with Hermione and her ladies. The large Greek columns held up the palace roof and white limestone covered the walls of the palace as well as fresco panel murals. Panthea's favorite mural was the myth of Apollo and Daphne in which Daphne, being chased by Apollo, asked her father, a river god, to save her. She was then transformed into a laurel tree which Apollo used to crown the victors at the Pythian Games, a lesser version of the Olympics. White marble decorated the floors of the palace, ice cold to the touch throughout the many seasons in Greece. Panthea beamed at her surroundings, finally glad to be home and away from her dreadful uncle, Agamemnon.

Sparta was always warmer than Mycenae, being a more southern region of Greece. As the winds blew from the seas through the palace, Panthea's hair flew up into the air, the white-blond color forming a halo around her head and making her appear angelic. She was at ease now. Being home always made her feel that way.

The women entered the queen's chambers, several servants carrying their belongings inside to be unpacked. Jewelry, silk coverings, chitons, peplos, himations, strophions, sandals, and more were gradually unpacked and placed back into their respective places. Helen's chambers were far larger in Sparta than they were in Mycenae, probably because she was back with her people and not a guest. The room was completely opened to the sea, columns spanning every few feet and the room leading out to a grand balcony that looked over a cliff where the waves crashed onto it. It was beautiful, breathtaking, and Panthea's favorite place to be in the entire palace. Her room was placed right next to her mother's, but was not as elaborate nor as big because she was a princess of Sparta and because she shared her mother's ladies.

Laying down on one of the chaises in her mother's rooms, Panthea watched the ladies unpack with a bored look on her face. Hermione sat down in her lap, Panthea playing with her younger sister's hair. It was like their mother's, a golden color, while her eyes were more like Menelaus's. She envied her younger sister in some ways. She was oblivious to everything and she wasn't pressured as much as herself. Panthea was heir to the throne and Hermione was just a princess of Sparta. She would never be free as Hermione was.

Panthea slowly fell asleep on the chaise, the journey tiring her body. Hermione did as well and the two sisters became intertwined with each other in their slumber. Helen smiled at her two girls, grabbing a silk cover and throwing it over them gently so to not wake them. She pressed light kisses to their foreheads before leaving her daughters to the god of sleep, Hypnos. They were in his care now.

* * *

 **A/N: Ok so I know a few of these words are confusing so I'm going to explain them to you all. A peplos was the traditional wear for women of Greece as a full-length garment, a chiton was a tunic used for both sexes, a himation was just a cloak or robe, and finally, a strophions was the bra of the time, basically just a strip of cloth that tied between the shoulder blades. Hope that helps clear up the confusion. Hope you guys liked the chapter!**


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs and part of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Petersen.**

 **A/N: Hope you guys like this chapter. There will be a lot of Achilles and Panthea interactions** **Hello to my new followers/favs: SkittlezxBabex146, grapejuice101, and aq34. All reviews are welcome!**

 **ATTENTION: Mature content that may not be suitable for some users. This will be indicated with bold MATURE between passages.**

 **Ch. 4**

* * *

 _Gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed,_

 _Thou makest my heart_

 _A bloody mark_

 _With piercing shot to bleed._

 _Shoot soft, sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss,_

 _For fear too keen_

 _Thy arrows been,_

 _And hits the heart where my beloved is._

 _Too fair that fortune were, nor never I_

 _Shall be so blest,_

 _Among the rest,_

 _That Love shall seize on her by sympathy._

 _Then since with Love my prayers bear no boot,_

 _This doth remain_

 _To cease my pain,_

 _I take the wound, and die at Venus' foot._

 _~The Sa Shepard's Passion of Love, George Peele_

* * *

Thunder echoed throughout the Spartan Palace, lightning flashing across the sky and lighting up Helen's chamber in addition to the blaze in her fireplace, which gave the room an orange glow. She was sitting with her girls by the fireplace, telling them the story of Theseus and the minotaur as the fire warmed their bodies. Although the man had kidnapped her, the story of his rise to fame was too entertaining not to tell. Hermione's eyes lit up with wonder as her mother described Theseus's journey though the labyrinth, and how he valiantly slayed the minotaur. Of course, he had been helped by King Minos of Crete's daughter, Ariadne, as she had fallen in love with Theseus. At the advice of Daedalus, the creator of the labyrinth, she bestowed upon him a ball of yarn which Theseus cleverly used to retract his steps to find his way back to the entrance of the maze. When the pair escaped, they traveled to the island of Naxos, where he abandoned her and left her to be Dionysus's bride. Helen left out that Theseus had abandoned Ariadne for Hermione's sake and instead focused on the fact that Ariadne fell in love and married the god of wine.

Panthea had heard the myth a thousand times, yet it continued to interest her. The thought of going on her own mission excited her, but it would probably not happen. She was a woman and most important of all, the heir to the throne of Sparta. The only adventure she would probably have would be to marry and have several children. That would be the extent of her use to her people if her father married her off. She dreaded her future sometimes just because of that reason.

Menelaus then entered the chambers, unannounced as usual. It looked as if he was intoxicated again, drinking with his men and discussing memories of the heat of battle. Panthea knew what to do and grabbed her sister before scurrying out of the room and into her own. Their chambers were connected by a simple archway between walls, making it easier for Helen to get to her girls.

 **MATURE**

Helen remained where she was, placed in front of the fire like a cow selected for sacrifice. She looked up at her husband, angry for ruining her moment with her girls. She hated him, hated the life he had given her, except for her precious girls. She tried to move away from him, darting across the room, but he grabbed her by the hair before she could move any further. He pulled her towards him, ripping the pins off her dress, the material gathering at her hips.

Helen pushed away from Menelaus, using all her strength to get away from him. She hit, scratched, kicked, elbowed, did everything in her power to get away from him. But, Menelaus was too strong, he was a warrior, and at that moment he would take his wife whether she was willing or not. He threw her roughly on the bed, pinning her down as he greedily pawed at her chest. Helen continued to hit him, her eyes blurred by the tears streaming down her face. She would try not to scream for her girls, but sometimes it was too painful.

Menelaus continued taking her peplos off, not caring that he was ripping it into shreds with his massive hands. Once her body was completed bared to him, he groped every part he could reach, Helen crying as she was violated by her husband again. He tried to kiss her, but she turned away from him, disgusted at the man, and spit in his face. Angered, Menelaus delivered a slap to her cheek, eliciting a cry from Helen. A bruise began to from, but not as dark as previous ones.

After that, Helen became numb to his touches. Removing his chiton from his body, he began to pound into his wife harshly, disregarding the fact he was hurting her. All he was focused on was his pleasure at that moment. Helen couldn't help it then, screaming for Menelaus to get off her. Her cries fell on deaf ears, Menelaus continuing his onslaught until he finished. He fell off her then, Helen removing herself from the bed and getting as far away from her husband as possible.

 **MATURE ENDS**

Pulling a robe over her battered body, Helen turned back to see Menelaus slumbering. The alcohol had fully gotten into his system and knocked him out after he brutally attacked his wife. Helen tried to calm herself down as she was hyperventilating. Taking deep breaths, she slowed down her heartbeat and ceased her cries. Sliding down the wall in the corner of her chambers, she wrapped her arms around her legs, watching to see if Menelaus would wake again. She was frightened, never taking her eyes off him. She was afraid he would try to take her again. Sometimes he did, other times he stayed asleep.

Helen dared not go into Panthea's chambers as he would just follow her there. She wondered what her girls were thinking now. They were probably petrified beyond belief, having heard Helen's cries of pain and her pleas for her husband to stop raping her. Helen started crying again just thinking about it. She would never want her girls to endure the same fate as her, but how could she know that? Their lives were controlled by Menelaus, just like hers.

In the next room, Panthea held her baby sister to her chest, rocking her even after she had fallen asleep. She had heard her mother's cries, but she couldn't do anything or else Menelaus would have turned his attention to her. Helen just told her to stay in rooms no matter what as Menelaus had become violent with Panthea when she tried to intervene as a child. She remembered that moment like she knew the back of her hand. She was Hermione's age and had heard her parents arguing. Upset, she entered their chambers to see Menelaus pinning Helen to a table and raping her.

Panthea was terrified and began to scream at her father to stop, but not before he threw her at a wall where she fell unconscious. Panthea had not gone near her father for several months, no matter how many times Menelaus apologized and sent her gifts for her forgiveness. Helen became a recluse and kept herself and her daughters locked up in her chambers. Not until Menelaus had given Panthea Apollis did she speak to him again.

When the sounds stopped, Panthea removed her sister from her lap and tucked her into bed. It was cold outside now, the temperature dropping as night came. She lay down next to her and wrapped her arms around her, ever the protective sister. A fire had been lit in her room and she stared at the dancing flames until sleep overtook her.

* * *

Looking at the road ahead, Achilles spurred his steed into a faster gallop. He and his Myrmidons had been on the road for a few days now, having first traveled by ship through tumultuous waves and raging thunderstorms. It seemed as if the sea god Poseidon had been against their journey to Sparta despite the many lambs and pigs he had slaughtered for the gods. For weeks, they had been at sea, delayed by the storms that never ceased to end.

Finally, a beacon of light had appeared and the gods had blessed the Myrmidons with a day of peace. The winds died down, the waves were calmed, the lighting disappeared, and the sound of thunder receded into the distance. His prayers as well as his men's must have been answered. They reached port three days after that, the winds finally blowing in the right direction. Once they docked, Achilles had no time for rest. His men unpacked the ship and they continued their journey to Sparta on horseback.

Nearing the end of their journey, Achilles was eager to see Panthea again, although he would never admit that to anyone. Patroclus had been brought along for appearances sake. He had no intention of putting the two together, but he had to bring his cousin to make his suggestion look real to Menelaus. The boy was eager enough to come anyways. Not being one to stay cooped up on Aegina, he had accepted his cousin's offer to go with him to Sparta. Now he rode next to Achilles, almost an exact copy of the man. His frame was slightly smaller as he was only 18 years of age, but everything else was the same: hair, eyes, body, everything. If Achilles never married nor had children, Patroclus would take his place as ruler of the Myrmidons. Without a doubt, he would give everything to Patroclus.

Focusing on the road ahead, they advanced towards the palace gates, guards opening them when they saw the Myrmidons approaching. Menelaus had informed them of their impending arrival. Nodding their heads to Achilles, the guards closed the gates after he and his men had entered. A procession appeared from the palace, Menelaus emerging first. He had been notified by one of his sentries when they had spotted Achilles and his Myrmidons on the horizon.

Walking down the palace steps, he embraced Achilles in a manly hug once he had dismounted his horse. "How was your journey Achilles?" he spoke. "For a second we thought you had disappeared off the face of the earth." He chuckled at his words as well as the courtiers around him.

"For a while I thought we were. The seas were rough and the gods did not bless our sailing until the end. Finally, they heard our prayers after much moaning and complaining," Achilles replied with humor.

"The gods, always involved in our lives." A look of deep thought appeared on Menelaus's face for a second before it disappeared. "Come, my home is your home."

The two men turned to ascend the stairs, Menelaus's men and the Myrmidons following after them. At the top of stairs stood Helen with her ladies, Panthea nowhere in sight. She struck Achilles with a cold look, her crystal blue eyes glaring at him again as they had in previous meetings. Her golden hair blew lightly in the sea breeze, her blue peplos gathering around mid-leg.

Menelaus came to stand beside her, voicing aloud, "Where is Panthea?" Helen looked to him, a blank expression on her face. She was still upset with him for the way her treated her a few days ago. Menelaus had woken up to a pitcher of cold water being poured over his face and Helen screaming at him to get out of her chambers. He took one look at her, how her battered appearance made him cringe at his actions. He left the room swiftly, regretting his brash actions towards her.

"She went for a ride this morning. Do not worry, I sent our guards with her. She needed the fresh air." Helen looked to Menelaus for any reaction, but he just smiled at her, trying to mend what had happened between them. He was trying, for Panthea and Hermione's sake. Helen only averted her eyes at his actions and folded her hands in front of her. A thin line appeared on Menelaus's face, but turned into a grin when he looked back to his guest.

A clatter of hooves caught the groups attention, Helen descending the stairs to meet her daughter who had returned from her ride on Apollis. Panthea's hair was tangled from her outing, her eyes alight with excitement and joy at having been able to be of the palace grounds. Her guards appeared behind her, out of breath at having to keep up with the princess's high-strung steed. She darted every which way in the fields, the guards in a bit of a disarray at her behavior. Helen giggled at their appearance, knowing her daughter had given them a hard time.

Dismounting Apollis, the stallion nuzzled his mistress as she removed his bridle. She had decided to ride bareback that morning so there was no reason to unsaddle. The stable boy arrived, placing a lead rope around Apollis's neck before leading him into the stable, feeding him an apple as they went. Panthea smiled after the pair, wishing she could do the same, but she had her duties to attend to with Helen.

Looking up towards the palace, she realized that Achilles and his Myrmidons were there. She was taken back by their arrival, having not been told that they would be visiting Sparta. Neither Helen nor Menelaus had said anything about the fact they, the Myrmidons, would be staying in Sparta. She didn't know the reason of their purpose for being there and it bothered her immensely.

Achilles cast his gaze on Panthea, his eyes darkening with lust as he took in her form and his blood singing to him as it warmed through his veins. She was breathtaking to him with her red cheeks and tangled hair, her eyes shining like sapphires in the sunlight. Her peplos left little to the imagination as it was cut shorter for her ride and came to just above her knees, highly inappropriate for the other women of Greece. Menelaus made an exception for his daughter, although Helen disagreed with her wardrobe choice entirely. Panthea raised her chin up as her eyes locked with his, raising her eyebrows up as she did so. She was being wary of him, Achilles could tell that much from her body language. It was the same as Helen's. He groaned inwardly. Her mother was trying to turn her against him by feeding her tales of his past affairs probably.

The pair climbed the stairs back to where Menelaus stood, Panthea pressing a kiss to her father's cheek. "My lord," she spoke, turning to Achilles and curtseying. She kept her eyes pinned to the ground as she addressed him, her hands fiddling with her peplos as she did so.

"My lady," Achilles answered huskily, his tone not going unnoticed by Helen, but completely overlooked by Menelaus who urged Achilles and the Myrmidons to follow him inside the palace. The men followed Menelaus into the main hall while Helen, Panthea, and their ladies took off in the opposite direction. This time, Panthea did not even bother to look back and see if Achilles was watching her. His eyes bore into her back, urging her to turn around, but she remained determined and kept her eyes trained in front of her. She would not give in so easily to the great warrior, Achilles.

* * *

Walking through the gardens of the palace, Achilles took some time for himself as he had been quite busy the past few days with Menelaus and his men. They drank together, visited brothels together, trained together, it was a never-ending cycle. The topic of Patroclus and Panthea had been broached once, but Achilles quickly changed the subject and focused on war strategies to divert attention from Panthea.

Speaking of the girl, he hadn't seen her that much during his first few days in Sparta. At meals, she sat with Helen and kept to herself. She trained after the Myrmidons and Menelaus's men were finished for the day, making her seem much more private in her affairs while guests were visiting. He would pass by her in the hall, always when she was with her ladies or Helen. That woman was driving him mad by the way she always sent her disgusted looks at him as if she wanted nothing more than to kill him herself.

Achilles wanted to get Panthea alone, not in an inappropriate manner, but to get to know her better. She remained a mystery to him and he wanted to solve her puzzle. Of course, he wanted to do other things with her, many naughty things that she would probably never concede to unless Menelaus had arranged a match between them. He would not harm the girl, but he did want her. He could only control himself for so long until he pounced on her like a ravenous lion.

Suddenly, he heard little giggles coming from behind one of the many Cypress trees in the garden. Curious, he turned the corner to see Panthea sitting with her little sister Hermione on a blanket over the grass. She was reading to her, a very odd thing to see women of Greece partaking in as many were not educated. Coming closer, he realized Panthea was reading the story of Narcissus and how he became so obsessed with himself that he was curse to fall in love with his own reflection. It was a horrific story to tell a nine-year-old, but Panthea was trying to make it comical for her younger sister, portraying Narcissus as a man who kissed mirrors because he loved his reflection. Hermione was laughing her heart out, rolling around on the ground at the story. Placing the scroll down, Panthea then began to tickle her younger sister until she begged for her to stop. Achilles smiled at the scene. He never had siblings of his own, Patroclus being the closest to it, and it was endearing to see siblings interact with each other.

Stepping out from behind the tree, Achilles announced himself by clearing his throat. He startled the two sisters, Hermione giving out a cry of fright as the stranger announced himself to them. She had not been formally introduced as Panthea had and she sat behind her sister, peering out over her shoulder shyly.

"There's no reason to be frightened," Achilles spoke softly, smiling gently at the pair. Panthea eyed him, taking in his form as he neared them. She still sat on the blanket, not rising to greet him at all. She leaned backward in her position, as if that would stop his approach. Achilles chuckled at her actions. She was ever cautious like the innocent girl she was. He delighted in her behavior.

"You can continue. I won't bother you. I'm quite interested myself." Panthea still did not move. Hey eyes narrowed at his words for a few seconds before she grabbed the scroll again and began to read to Hermione. Achilles came to sit on a stone bench across from the pair. He watched as her perfect lips mouthed the words, how her eyes lit up when she came to a certain passage, the way her fingers caressed the parchment so gently as if it would break at any moment.

Hermione warmed up to his presence, coming out from behind her sister and moving into her lap. Achilles caught her looking at him with curiosity from time to time, but as soon as he caught her eye, she would blush and stare down at the scroll as Panthea was.

Finishing up the story, Panthea placed the scroll to the side. "I think we should go inside now Hermione. If you'll excuse us my lord, I hope you liked the story, but we need to return to our chambers now." Panthea rose gracefully from the ground, flipping her white-blond hair over her shoulder. Hermione stood as well and latched her hand onto her sisters before tugging on it.

"But you promised we could play hide-and-seek Thea," Hermione said to her elder sister. Thea was a nickname as Panthea had been too hard for her to pronounce as a toddler. Panthea hesitated before speaking, looking up at Achilles and back down at her little sister. She wanted to give in to her sister, but she was being watchful of him.

"Alright, but just for a little bit." She bit down on her bottom lip as she spoke. Achilles grinned at her actions. She could do nothing now that he had heard. Rising from the bench, Achilles stretched his legs out before returning his attention back to the sisters.

"Can he play as well?" Hermione questioned naively. She had no clue why Achilles was there, but Panthea did. However, Hermione only saw Achilles as another playmate as Menelaus rarely partook in her childish games because of his duties as King of Sparta.

"Hermione," Panthea said in hushed tones. Hermione only stared up at her sister innocently.

"It would be my honor princess." Hermione blushed at his words and giggled at being addressed so formally. Bending down, Achilles stood slightly shorter than her actual height. "On one condition. You have to count." He grinned up cheekily at Panthea who rolled her eyes at his actions. She knew he wanted to get her alone, but she would not give him that pleasure.

"Alright," Panthea spoke before darting off into the maze, her peplos fluttering behind her like the wings of a bird. Achilles took off after her, winking at Hermione who blushed again and started to count. Hermione may have thought the game was hide-and-seek, but to Achilles, it was a game of cat and mouse. He was predator and Panthea was the prey.

Looking around the garden, he slowed his steps to a light jog, careful that his feet were silent against the hard ground. He was in warrior mode, stealthily moving through the gardens as he looked for Panthea. She had disappeared without a trace. She left no indication of where she had hidden. Achilles chuckled, enjoying the hunt he so desperately craved from her.

Achilles searched for Panthea for a few moments, making sure he could still hear Hermione counting in the distance. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement coming from under one of the many bushes. A foot had disappeared under the brush. He grinned. He had found her and she had nowhere to run.

Coming to stand in front of the bush, Achilles made it look like he was passing by before he hid himself behind a Cypress tree nearby. Silently, he waited. Panthea emerged from under the bush, patting down her peplos of any dust or dirt that may gotten on it. She was completely oblivious to the fact he had stepped out from his hiding spot and was leaning against the tree lazily, watching her.

Looking up, she let out a little shriek at seeing him standing there. He appeared unfazed by her reaction and instead pushed himself off the tree before stalking towards her menacingly. She sprinted in the other direction, Achilles hot on her trail. She may have known the exact layout of the gardens, but he was faster.

Suddenly, Hermione's little footsteps could be heard behind them as she followed the sound of their own feet as they ran. Roughly grabbing her elbow, Achilles pulled them behind one of the palace walls, pushing Panthea against his chest and her back against the wall. He had her locked in his embrace whether she wanted to be or not.

Finding herself in such a vicinity to Achilles, Panthea lifted her head up, not realizing how close his face was to her. Their noses brushed and Achilles eyes bore into hers. She gulped at the sight, trembling as he held her. His hand was perfectly placed at her hip while the other was against the wall to block her escape. He moved closer to her, loving how he could feel her heartbeat against his. Their lips barely brushed, Panthea trying to move her head backwards from his. Moving his hand from the wall, he came to cradle her head before trying again.

Hermione had to make herself known then, jumping out from behind the wall and yelling "boo" at them. The pair burst apart, Achilles letting go of Panthea as if he had burned his hands. Hermione giggled at them. I found you both," she said triumphantly, not realizing what she had interrupted. Achilles stared at Panthea, hoping to see a blush on her cheeks or any reaction that may have said she was pleased with his advancement.

"You did, didn't you sweetheart." Panthea stroked a stray curl out of Hermione's face before pushing her back towards the palace. She was trying to act as if nothing had transpired between her and Achilles. "Well the game is over now. Mama is waiting for us." Hermione conceded with her actions, skipping towards the palace. Panthea followed her, but not before she looked over her shoulder at Achilles. He smiled at her, a real smile rather than the smug one she had expected, and she couldn't help, but smile back at him. The game of love was in session.

* * *

Entering the palace, Hermione and Panthea proceeded to their mother's chambers. Panthea couldn't help smiling. Achilles had cornered her, but she had never experienced something so thrilling. The pair then came to Helen's chambers, opening the doors loudly as Hermione was eager to see her mother. Helen stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips and a disappointed look in her eyes.

"Where have you two been?" Helen questioned her girls, a motherly look in her eyes. "You were supposed to be back an hour ago. You have fittings for new peplos Hermione as yours are growing too small and Panthea, you need one for the banquet your father organized for the Myrmidons." She rolled her eyes at the last part of her sentence. She clearly still despised Achilles.

"We were playing in the garden mama. Lord Achilles even played with us." Hermione giggled as she told Helen what had transpired between Panthea, Achilles, and herself. Helen's demeanor changed immediately from interested in her daughter's words to stiff and aloof. She locked eyes with Panthea, her look sharp as she analyzed her eldest daughter. Panthea squirmed under her mother's gaze, not liking how the attention had been transferred from her sister to herself.

"Hermione," Helen spoke coolly, why don't you go out on the balcony. Alexandra is out there playing on the lyre with my other ladies. Why don't you join her hmmm?" Noticing the change in her mother's tone, Hermione nodded obediently before quickly departing to the balcony. She looked at Panthea with a scared expression, knowing Panthea was about to be scolded, but she didn't know why Helen would mad at her. They had only played a game. Achilles was a stranger, but he was their father's guest. She saw no problem in their fun.

Once Hermione had left, Helen fixed Panthea with a cold glare, circling her as she looked her daughter up and down. "What happened?" Panthea stared at her mother, aghast at how she was acting.

"Nothing," Panthea voiced, hoping her mother would drop the subject.

"You're lying." Helen was not going to let this go. She was furious, not at Panthea, but because Achilles had managed to get her alone after she had been trying so hard to keep him as far away from Panthea as possible.

Panthea wouldn't meet her mother's eyes, staring anywhere, but at her. Helen came to stand in front of Panthea, raising her chin up so she would meet her eyes. "What happened my Thea?" she said softly.

As she as she locked her blue eyes with her mother's, she knew her resolve was breaking. Letting out a huge sigh, she revealed the truth to Helen. "Lord Achilles tried to kiss me."

Helen jerked her hand away from her daughter, gasping in anger at Achille's actions. "You are forbidden to leave this room without me or Alexandra. There will be no more training until he leaves, unless your oaf of a father decides to show you off like he usually does. Am I understood?"

"Don't speak about papa that way." Panthea held a dark look in her eyes as she spoke. She hated when Helen talked ill of Menelaus. It was true that Menelaus was not the best of husbands, but he was still a father.

"Panthea, you must promise me you will do as I say." Helen pleaded with her daughter.

Panthea merely nodded, knowing her mother would be worried, angered, or would possess any other emotion if she did not agree. Helen gathered Panthea to her chest, burying her face in her daughter's white-blond curls. "Everything will be alright," she spoke to her daughter. Panthea remained quiet, not knowing what to say. All she knew was that what her mother asked of her would not be carried out.

* * *

Slaughtering another enemy, Hector pulled his sword from the man's neck, watching as the life faded from his eyes. He hated this part of war. There was no glory in it, only death. He faced another enemy, hacking him down as he charged with his men. They overtook the men of Abydos quickly, letting out roars of triumph when they defeated their enemies.

Paris had not taken part in the battle, but merely stayed with the archers as Hector had arranged. Upon reaching his younger brother, he noticed Paris's nonchalant demeanor. He still didn't understand what it meant to be a warrior, to fight for your country. Hector shook his head at his brother, talking to General Glaucus about their next plans. There would be an arrangement made between the two countries, to bring peace between them instead of the never-ending chaos that had occurred. The sooner the treaty was made, the sooner Hector could return to his wife and child.

* * *

 **A/N: So, the Myrmidons came from Aegina and migrated to Thessaly, but I couldn't tell exactly what region so I just stuck to their birthplace. Sorry if that is historically incorrect. Hope you enjoyed the interactions between Panthea and Achilles. I promise things will escalate soon between them as you probably already know. ;)**


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, but my OCS and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Petersen.**

 **A/N: Ch. 5 is up! Just a filler chapter. Hope you enjoy. Sorry for the late update. I have been sick for the past few weeks and am finally getting over it. I've also been working fulltime over break and my winter session just started so I'm super busy. Hello to my new followers/favs: Leaseablue, thewolfbitch, waywardlottie, lorieth, Terra King, eautiful-Phoenix75, angel897, megane08, Mesi-miko, and .panteli. Thank you to all the people who have reviewed my story. Your feedback is so encouraging! Love you all. Special thanks to Arianna Le Fay who has been checking up on me and always gives me great ideas.**

 **Response to Guest: Thank you! They will be, especially when Hector becomes involved. Yay! So glad you like it!**

 **Ch. 5**

* * *

 _The rose looks out in the valley_

 _And thither will I go!_

 _To the rosy vale where the nightingale_

 _Sings his song of woe._

 _The virgin is on the river-side_

 _Culling the lemons pale;_

 _Thither,-yes! thither will I go_

 _To the rosy vale where the nightingale_

 _Sings his song of woe._

 _The fairest fruit her hand hath culled,_

 _'Tis for her lover all,_

 _Thither,-yes! thither will I go_

 _To the rosy vale where the nightingale_

 _Sings his song of woe._

 _In her hat of straw, for her gentle swain,_

 _She has placed the lemons pale;_

 _Thither,-yes! thither will I go_

 _To the rosy vale where the nightingale_

 _Sings his song of woe._

 _~The Nightingale, Gil Vicente_

* * *

Heat coursed through Panthea's body, a pool of pleasure building in her stomach. Achilles gripped her hips tightly, his fingers feeling her curves through her thin peplos. Their lips battled for dominance, Achilles winning as he was more experienced and because he would never give up control. He squeezed Panthea's hips, eliciting a delicious whimper from her lips. This gave him an opportunity to dart his tongue into her mouth, exploring the caverns of her mouth thoroughly and slowly. Panthea gripped his chiton tightly, her fingers pulling him towards her so there was no space between their bodies. She met his advances eagerly, trying to please him and give him as much as he was giving her.

Achilles chuckled at Panthea's advances, keeping one hand at her hips while the other traveled upwards to cup her face delicately in his calloused hand. Pulling away from her lips, he rested his forehead against hers. Panthea whined at the loss of contact, her plump lips pouting at him and her blue eyes shining up at him innocently. He grinned before delivering a swift kiss to her lips and resuming his previous position.

Panthea had left the security of her chambers, disobeying Helen's orders, and was traveling to the gardens when a hand had appeared from around a column and dragged her behind it. She fought against her assailant at first, hitting blindly and trying to scream even though a hand muffled her cries. Not until Achilles turned her to face him did she stop fighting him.

With his forehead resting against Panthea's, Achilles felt at peace for the first time since he could remember. His arms wrapped around her waist gently, molding her body to his. Panthea nuzzled her nose against his affectionately, relishing in the way he was holding her close. She had never been held by a man other than her father. It felt nice to be safe in someone's arms, even if that person was the one her mother warned her to stay away from.

Looking up at Achilles, Panthea moved away from his body slowly. Her eyes fluttered with the intense gaze he cast at her. Her body shivered. "I have to leave," she whispered. "My mother will be looking for me."

Achilles nodded at her words, releasing his grip on Panthea. Leaning down, he delivered a departing kiss to her lips, eliciting a whimper from her. She blushed, staring down at her feet when the contact ended. He lifted her hand to his lips, placing a kiss there as well. "I shall see you later then my lady."

Panthea smiled at him before continuing her way through the Spartan palace, her hand barely touching his own as she left him behind the pillar. The situation had been unexpected, but not unwanted. Achilles slipped into the shadows once again, his eyes never leaving Panthea and his thoughts consumed by her as she left him craving more.

* * *

It was midday when the sun scorched down on the plains of Sparta. Soldiers were training hard in the practice arena, beads of sweat dripping down their faces and bodies and into the dry soil. Muscles were aching and throats were parched under the hot sun, many of the men having been training since dawn. Myrmidons and Spartans mixed together in the ring, testing their skills of swordsmanship against one another and proving their strength and cunningness.

Patroclus and Achilles stood among the men, Achilles lecturing and teaching Patroclus during his daily lesson. Patroclus was tiring, but managed to pull what strength he had left from his body to parry Achilles' attack. He sidestepped, barely missing the blade of Achilles' sword as it grazed his shoulder. He let out a sigh of frustration. Achilles may have been his cousin, but that just made him push Patroclus even harder than all his other men.

Steel collided with steel, man and boy locked in the heat of battle as their swords connected in front of their bodies. Achilles gave a hard shove, knocking Patroclus to the ground. He landed on his back, dirt gathering on his body. The impact had knocked the breath out of him and when he pushed himself off the ground and opened his eyes, Achilles stood above him, his sword at Patroclus's throat. He grinned triumphantly while Patroclus frowned deeply at him. Achilles had won again, like he always did.

Rising from his position on the ground, Patroclus brushed himself off and returned his blade to its sheath which was tied to his belt on his body. Achilles came to pat the lad on the back, but Patroclus shrugged him off, disappointed that he had lost another match to his superior cousin. Achilles only chuckled at his behavior, knowing his pride had been injured. It was good for him though. No one should be too prideful and though Achilles would never admit it, Patroclus's skills were coming along nicely and he was far more advanced than the other youths.

Looking up, Achilles noticed Panthea peering out from behind a column. She was dressed in her traditional court clothes rather than her unconventional armor, obviously having snuck out from under her mother's nose. Her eyes were lit up with delight as she watched the men spar, her gaze flickering around the arena until they came to rest on Achilles' form. Panthea blushed when she noticed he was staring at her, but she met his unwavering gaze rather than turned her eyes to the floor.

Hearing her mother calling for her, Panthea wrenched her eyes away from Achilles' and listened for where her mother's position within the palace could be, not wanting to be discovered. She gave Achilles a gentle smile before disappearing into the palace walls. Achilles would see her later that night though. As a guest of Menelaus, Achilles always dined with him, his wife, and his courtiers. Panthea rarely appeared though, Helen keeping her away from him. When she was present, Panthea was placed as far away from Achilles as possible. He would slip away during that time and would cherish every moment he spent with her.

* * *

Panthea had just dismissed her maids who had drawn a hot bath for her in her bathing chambers, each of them curtseying respectfully before departing elsewhere. The water within the tiled tub was boiling and the steam rose off the surface of the water and into the air. Stripping out of her dirtied peplos, she let the garment fall to the floor. The air was cool against her pale skin and an involuntary shiver erupted down her spine. Nearing the water, she dipped her feet in first to test the temperature. Once her body became accustomed to the heat, she stepped further into the water until it reached her waist, her arms wrapping around her upper torso.

Relaxed, Panthea undid her braid, combing her fingers through her tangled locks of white-blond hair. Reaching to the side, she grabbed an actual comb and pulled the device through her tresses until satisfied with her work. Done with the task, she dipped her head into the water to wash her hair. Rising to the surface, she reached to the tub's side for soaps to wash her hair and body with. She first rubbed the soap against her body, making sure she did not miss a spot. The soap was perfumed and smelled heavenly. The maids had obviously listened to her when she said her favorite scent was the smell of hyacinths, a native flower of Greece.

Rinsing her body off, Panthea then lathered her hair with soap and began to massage her scalp thoroughly. She was so involved with the task at hand, that she did not notice Achilles enter the main part of her chambers or even when he entered the bathing room. Leaning against the doorway, Achilles eyes roamed over every inch of Panthea's body that was on display to him. Her back was to him, but she stood at such an angle in which he could barely see one of her breasts, his eyes fuming with desire as he took in her appearance even further.

Achilles had been able to slyly disappear from the main hall of the Spartan palace, many of the guests being intoxicated while looking on as Menelaus and Helen fought in front of their courtiers yet again. It was not one of their worse fights, but their hushed tones and sharp words were enough to hint at what was occurring between the royal couple. Achilles was easily able to leave the room, Patroclus, Eudorus, and the other Myrmidons not noticing that their master had departed from the feast.

Ducking her head back into the water, Panthea rid all soap suds from her white-blond curls, her hair now appearing shiny and soft in the candlelight. Achilles wanted nothing more than to run his hands through her hair, but he did not want to alert her of his presence yet. He remained in the doorway, awed by her form and looks. His eyes darkened again as he scanned her soap ridden body. He wanted to wrap his hands around her body and curl his fingers into her delicious flesh. He wished to kiss her beautiful lips. He desired Panthea in that moment, wanting to take every part of her. His body heated in anticipation, but he held himself back from the actions he had just thought of. The last thing he wanted was for Panthea to fear him. Knowing how Menelaus acted, he would try to not act as the man did with his wife.

Finished bathing, Panthea went to turn around in the bath when she spotted Achilles smugly leaning against the archway of her bathing chambers. She let out a loud gasp, trying to use her arms and hands to cover her upper body. Her cheeks and chest instantly became red, Achilles licking his lips at the sight in front of him. He liked seeing the back of her form, but her front was more enticing to him as the water covered her firm bottom from his eyes as well as her other regions.

"A…Achilles…" Panthea stuttered. "You should not be in here." Achilles eyes only darkened at her words and an audible gulp from Panthea resounded throughout the chamber. She knew any movement would only appeal to Achilles more and if she went to grab a towel, he would probably snatch it out of his grasp and she would also reveal herself to him by removing her arms from her body. It was a game to him, she realized. He was the hunter and she the prey.

Panthea barely moved, taking tiny steps in the water to not cause any ripples that would catch Achilles attention. He just stood there, watching her intently. Panthea felt as if she was being scrutinized under his gaze, her body tensing as she looked straight back at him. She would, no could not back down from the challenge, or else he would have won the game.

Inching towards the front of the bath, Panthea slowly reached for a towel. Achilles still did not flinch, watching her every movement with his lust filled eyes. Her eyes flickered back from the towel to Achilles. However, when she looked to Achilles a third time he was already halfway to her, having silently began his walk to her. He grabbed the towel out of her reach and drug her out of the bath under her arms, extracting a cry from Panthea's lips.

Panthea now stood in front of Achilles, the water falling from her body to the floor, dripping on the tiles and making them wet. Achilles held the towel out of reach, smirking at Panthea as she stood in front of him fully naked. She was too shocked to do anything, her mouth mimicking the movements of a fish. Her eyes were wide and her body was shaking as she stood before him.

Feeling merciful, Achilles stopped eye-fucking Panthea and wrapped the towel around her body tightly. She grabbed the fabric firmly in her hands and glued her eyes to floor innocently. Achilles was the first man to see her naked, not of her own account though, and she didn't know how to feel about the situation. She was shaking then, Achilles having to wrap his owns arms around her to comfort her vulnerability that he had caused.

Achilles lifted Panthea into his arms, cradling her against his body as he came to sit next to the fire in her man chambers on a chaise. "I did not mean to frighten you my little warrior. I could not help myself. You are too beautiful." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, pulling her tighter against his body. Panthea still shook, but a blush had formed on her cheeks again. She nuzzled into his embrace, enjoying his presence. She had not felt this secure in a long time.

Panthea looked up to Achilles innocently, searching his face for any type of emotion. He was a man of few feelings, his face constantly blank and difficult to read. His eyes were unreadable usually, but at that moment they held a fire so intense that Panthea didn't know whether to be scared or excited. Taking a deep breath, she released the towel she had clutched in her grasp, the material falling down her shoulders and to her waist.

Achilles let out a raspy breath of air as he looked at the wondrous sight in front of him. Panthea was bared to him from the waist up, of her own volition now. She didn't block herself with her hands as she did earlier, but merely arranged her hair over her shoulders and placed her hands silently in her lap as she watched him with her eyes. Slowly, he reached out and grasped both globes in his hands. They were beautiful to him in every way. The pale white skin, the light pink buds that hardened under his touch, and the perfect size of them which fit in his hands just right.

Panthea griped the collar of his chiton, pulling herself up against Achilles and letting out a small gasp as he placed his hands on her breasts. She buried her face in the space between his shoulder and neck as he explored her body. She didn't know what to think of the sensations happening to her body, her blood running wild in her veins. Achilles kept caressing the soft mounds gently, not wanting to hurt her delicate body. He had to hold himself back for both their sakes, not wanting to make a mistake and scare his little warrior and because if he didn't focus, he would lose control and there was no telling what would happen if that occurred.

Slowly, Achilles moved his hands down from Panthea's breasts to her waist and shifted her position in his lap. Instead of sitting sideways, she now straddled him. The towel was still wrapped around her waist so she could maintain some type of modesty in Achille's eyes. Balancing herself, Panthea's hands lay on Achilles broad shoulders while his gripped her waist tightly. Even in his lap, Panthea was still much shorter than he. Her forehead came to right below his chin and she had to look up at him because of the height difference.

Keeping one hand on Panthea's waist, Achille's other hand stroked her back gently, making little patterns on the soft skin of her lower back and then rising to where her hair covered the top of her back. He then situated her hair so that all of it fell over one shoulder and continued to rub her back. Panthea leaned into Achille's chest, breathing in his manly scent and cuddling against his body. Her arms now wrapped around his waist as she pulled herself closer to him.

Achilles inwardly groaned as Panthea unknowingly centered her core right over him. Letting out a loud sigh of frustration, he wrenched her chin up with his calloused hand and crashed his lips onto hers, demanding and rough like the warrior he was. Panthea was shocked at the outburst, but didn't fight it as she met each kiss eagerly with her own vigor. Achilles chuckled at her inexperience, but he liked it that way. She was innocent and pure, and now she was his. He would teach her everything knew about the relations between a man and woman which was exactly what he wanted. No man would touch her or have her before he did.

The two stayed in that position for quite some time, Achilles slowly exploring Panthea's body while she whimpered at every touch. Panthea soon fell asleep from exhaustion in Achille's arms and he lifted her up in his arms and placed her down on her bed before joining her. With the towel still wrapped around her body, Achilles drew her close before pulling the sheets around them. Achilles soon followed Panthea into the abyss of sleep, his arms encasing Panthea in a protective embrace. Only the crackling of the fire filled the room and the sound of the wind blowing into the chamber.

* * *

Hector let out a burst of laughter as he watched his son, Astyanax, throw his food across the chamber once again. He was in a grumpy mood as he had just woken up from his nap and neither his mother, Andromache, nor they maidservant could feed him. The two women both let out sighs of frustration, Andromache wiping a stray lock of hair off her forehead, A look of concentration was etched on her face while the maidservant just looked irritated that the little prince would not cooperate.

Looking towards the open doors of the chambers when they heard Hector's laugh, both women sent him scolding looks. Neither appreciated how he saw the situation as comical. Striding into the room, Hector lifted Astyanax into his arms before throwing the babe into the air and catching him. Astyanax let out giggles of glee as his father threw him above his head.

At five months old, Astyanax was now able to sit up on his own and was attempting to crawl. He was curious about everything and often, his parents had to make sure certain objects were out of his reach. Hector had missed seeing his son as he went to fight Troy's enemies in the north. He had been gone for two months before returning to Troy. By then, Astyanax was almost four months old and has drastically changed since the last time Hector had seen him. Since the moment he returned, Hector had spent as much time as possible with his little family, not wanting to miss anything that could be a milestone in his son's development.

Andromache had been pleased with her husband's behavior, not knowing if he would be as doting of a father as hers had been. As the only daughter of the King of Thebes, Andromache had a special place in her father's heart and had been spoiled by him as well as her elder brothers. Hector showed the same love for his son as Andromache's father had shown her and she was very thankful to the gods for that. Many fathers did not take interest in their sons until they were of training age, but not Hector. He loved every moment he could spend with Astyanax and Andromache.

Placing Astyanax back in his mother's lap, Hector dismissed the servant and placed a loving kiss on his wife's forehead. 'Why don't you let me try Andromache," Hector spoke gently. Andromache nodded and Hector reached for some of the food the servant had prepared before feeding it to his son. Unlike with is mother, Astyanax let himself be fed and did not resist Hector's attempts, instead smiling up at his father when he was finished with the portion he had swallowed. Andromache looked at hector with a shocked expression on her face.

"How…I've been trying to get him to eat that for the past hour." Hector laughed at Andromache's actions.

"He's only testing you my love. My father said I did the same thing as a babe." Hector fed another portion to Astyanax, making sure the babe did not get any on his face or try to spit the food back out. Astyanax complied with his father's actions, giving Hector and Andromache a toothy smile as he finished his meal.

A loud knock was then heard at the door of the couple's chambers. Hector groaned in annoyance. There was always something with the council or military matters that he had to address as the crown prince of Troy.

"Enter," Hector said, a commanding tone in his voice.

A page entered the chamber, bowing respectfully to the royals. "My lord," he spoke respectfully, "His majesty requests your presence in his private study about relation with Sparta."

Hector raised his eyebrows at the statement. Priam ever rarely used his private chambers to talk to his children when it came to important matters, usually talking to them in the throne room with the council present. Hector sensed something dramatic was about to occur, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He quickly kissed his wife and child before exiting into the main hall.

Walking through the main corridors, Hector let the page lead him to his father's private study. The servant knocked on the entrance door, listening for the king's answer before opening the door and shutting it behind the prince. Priam stood looking out on the balcony, watching his city and the happenings below. Hector came to stand next to his father, enjoying the view of his motherland.

"You asked to see me father," Hector spoke. He looked at Priam, waiting for him to speak. Priam's light blue eyes connected with his dark ones. They were filled with wisdom and always seemed to root men to the spot, hindering their ability to speak or move.

"Yes, I did. There is something I wish to discuss with you about Sparta." Priam's words were terse and to the point. Sparta was a difficult subject, Troy and the other country being hostile to each other for several years. Many men had died in battle on both sides and peace seemed unlikely between the city-states.

"What about Sparta?" Hector questioned. He was curious as to what Priam would have to say about the kingdom of Greece.

"Menelaus has asked for a contract to be drawn up, for peace. It seems he too has tired of our squabbles and wished to settle the matter. Sparta will make an excellent ally for war and for the trading interests of Troy. This agreement is essential Hector. I am sending you and Paris to draw up negotiations. That boy needs to learn some diplomacy from you. The gods know he needs it." Priam then walked from the balcony and said in one of the many chairs in the private study, gesturing for Hector to do the same.

Hector followed his father's lead, sitting across from him. A pitcher of wine had been set aside for the royals and both quenched their thirst with the substance before continuing ther conversation.

"Is that all you wanted to discuss father?" Hector asked.

Priam gave his eldest son a gentle smile. "Ever since you were little, you were much too perceptive. That trait still prevails I see." He chuckled at his words, Hector joining in. "There is something else I had hoped to discuss, with Paris present of course, but I believe I should go over the matter with you first. He's too outspoken unlike you Hector."

The prince of Troy nodded at his father's words. Paris did not handle political affairs well, often being nonchalant or not caring entirely about relations with other countries. He was 24 years old yet acted like a spoiled brat. Hector knew his brother meant no harm, but he needed to start taking his responsibilities seriously and not focus on wooing women so much.

"What is it father?" Hector replied to his father's words. A solemn expression was evident on his face.

"Peace is what we need with Sparta, a political alliance that will keep our enemies weak and at their knees. These negotiations are needed between our countries, but there is something that can improve our relations more. Menelaus has a daughter of marriageable age, around 15 years old. I would like to arrange a marriage between her and your brother."

Hector was at a loss for words. He was shocked his father was even breaching the subject. Paris being married was a joke. It would be many years until Paris would be ready for a wife. "Father, you can't be serious?" he asked. "Paris would want nothing to do with the girl and she would miserable here. And her age, that's very young still. I know there are girls younger than her that are married, but 15? The girl wouldn't know what to do with herself if she came to this country." Hector was trying to dissuade his father from the idea, trying to save her from a unhappy life with his brother. And to help Paris for his own sake. The gods only knew how Paris would act if Priam told him of his plans.

Priam nodded at his son's words, a thoughtful look gracing his features. "Perhaps you are right. There could be another approach to this. Maybe Deiophobus would more suitable." Hector rolled his eyes. Deiophobus was worse than Paris in his opinion. His younger brothers were generally the same in attitude, but Deiophobus was much more pompous and self-centered than Paris was.

"That would not work either father. Perhaps just a contact will be enough for now."

"Yes, a contract could suffice for now…unless you married her." Hector's eyes widened at his father's statement before anger overtook him.

"I'm perfectly happy with my wife now. Andromache is perfect in every way. I have no need for another. The fact that you would even suggest that is ridiculous." For once, Hector would not hold back. The matter was too important not too. He was the obedient son, but not at that moment.

"I agree. She is a most loyal and dutiful wife. She has given you your son for which I am very grateful, but I have conferred with physicians the matter of the birth of Astyanax. She almost died from the amount of blood loss and it seems the birth damaged her womb. She no longer bleeds. They have told me she will not be able to bear you anymore children and you cannot have just one heir Hector. Surely she will understand the matter." Priam hoped his son would see the truth in his words, but Hector remined angered.

"So, you are now meddling in my private affairs with my wife? You had no right to do that," Hector angrily spoke. He was seething in that moment, his muscles tensing and his teeth gritting.

"I have every right to. I am king and until my death I am responsible for the future of this country." Priam's voice took a dangerous tone, hinting to Hector that a battle would occur between father and son. "Leave me. We will discuss this matter when your mind has thought over things." He flipped his hand unflappably, signaling towards the closed doors.

Hector pushed out of the chair violently, hastening out of Priam's chambers, not bothering to bow or speak words of goodbye. His features were marred by the outraged expression on his face as he strode through the halls of the Trojan Palace. He was determined to rebel against his father, even if it killed him in the end. He would go to Sparta, but he would not marry Menelaus's daughter. That was a promise.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed. Sorry for the long wait. I will try to update sooner next time. What do you all think of the development between Achilles and Panthea? What about Hector's talk with Priam? I also wanted to address a comment I received for a previous story I wrote, The Prince's Jewel. I cannot reply to that review as it was made by a guest, but I've been thinking about what they said of making a spinoff. If you all have read it then awesome! If not, I encourage you to read it to understand what I'm talking about. I've decided to make a new version of the story after I'm done writing The Gods' Champion. Aurora, my main character, will either be a slave/courtesan or a princess of her own country with Thor being her love interest of course. Tell me what you guys think! I will also be revising The Prince's Jewel and will try to add some more chapters.**


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of** _ **Troy.**_

 **A/N: Only a few more chapters until the movie really begins! I'm so excited. Hello to my new favs/followers: Tottering Fool, Wildcat717, Bluemachine, pentis17, Sarah Salvatore Everdeen, SilencEloquentBvbgoddess, my-brain-feels-funny, slaneville0615, anime-aquarion, Percilla, and Hayley-Belle. Hector and Panthea will finally meet in this chapter and sadly Achilles will be departing from Sparta**

 **Response to Percilla (Guest): Thank you for reviewing. I'm glad you like it! I will try and update very two weeks but school just started so it may be delayed sometimes.**

 **WARNING: MATURE CONTENT**

 **Ch. 6**

* * *

 **Tis not, Celia, in our power**

 **To say how long our love will last;**

 **It may be we within this hour**

 **May lose those joys we now do taste;**

 **The Blessèd, that immortal be,**

 **From change in love are only free.**

 **Then since we mortal lovers are,**

 **Ask not how long our love will last;**

 **But while it does, let us take care**

 **Each minute be with pleasure past:**

 **Were it not madness to deny**

 **To live because we're sure to die?**

 _ **To a Lady Asking Him How Long He Would Love Her**_ **, Sir George Etherege**

* * *

It was the last day of the Myrmidons' stay in Sparta. Menelaus had decided to take his guests to one of his favorite spots near the palace, a secluded beach area where the royals and courtiers could relax in the sun as they sat near the Aegean's edge. The gods had blessed Sparta with a beautiful day. The sun shone brightly over the water and a light breeze could be felt, taking away the heat of the sun momentarily. The water was calm and translucent, making the sand at the bottom of the sea to be seen clearly.

Panthea and Hermione had been wading in the shallow water, both wearing delicate white peplos, their white blond and golden hair hanging loosely around their shoulders. The bottom of their garments were soaked, but that did not stop them from their fun. The girls were lightly splashing each other in the water, Hermione giggling whenever Panthea splattered water towards her direction. Panthea joined in with her sister's laughter, enjoying the moment of sisterly bonding between the two.

The girl's parents, the Myrmidons, and the members of the court were either lounging in chairs with tents above them or were walking along the shore line discussing affairs of Sparta or gossip of the court. Helen sat in her chair proudly as she was waited on by her maids and slaves, one girl refilling her cup with wine as it was emptied and another girl fanning her so she would not be too warm in the hot sun. Her eyes were vigilant as she watched the girls play in the water, a small smile on her lips. Looking over at her husband, she saw Menelaus talking animatedly with Achilles and other men about the glories of war. She rolled her eyes at the topic. That's all Menelaus cared about.

Watching Achilles for a moment, Helen's eyes narrowed at the man as she saw him dart his eyes from Menelaus to the girls and then back again. That man could never cease to irritate her even if the gods had intervened. She was quite satisfied that he was leaving Sparta, no longer having to deal with the man eyeing Panthea constantly and Menelaus discussing marriage proposals with him. Thankfully, nothing had been arranged and so Helen had an opportunity to sway Menelaus's opinion still.

Taking another sip from her chalice, Helen rose from her seat, swatting away her ladies in the process. Her feet made tiny prints in the sand as she walked and she was careful not to step on any shells. She made her way towards her daughters, giggling as Hermione almost fell into the water. The girls were now chasing each other, the water splashing up onto their peplos and soaking their bodies. Th sun shined brightly off her girls' hair, making them seem almost goddess-like as halos surrounded their heads.

Placing the chalice on the sand, Helen stepped into the shallows of the water. She pulled her peplos up so it was above her ankles, sighing as she was relieved a little bit from the heat. Hermione ran past her as Panthea chased her sister around her mother, grinning as Hermione tried to get Helen to join in. Helen complied with her daughter, running away from Panthea as she held on to Hermione's hand. Panthea followed the pair, that is until she tripped over a rock she had not seen the water.

A surprised gasp was heard from Panthea as she fell into the water, her peplos tangling around her legs and making it hard for her to catch herself better. She fell on her hip, her entire body now soaking wet as well as her hair. Several of the courtiers had noticed her predicament, some giggling at their princess's clumsiness, others rising from their positions in chaises or on the beach to make sure she had not injured herself.

Panthea blushed a deep red as she looked up at the courtiers, embarrassed that she had been so clumsy. The water came up to her waist as she pushed herself up and untangled her peplos from legs. Helen came running over to her daughter, Hermione trailing behind her.

"Are you alright sweetheart?" Helen questioned her eldest daughter. She bent down to look over her daughter's body for any injury, a worried expression on her face.

"I… I think I'm alright," Panthea replied meekly. The only thing she really cared about was how the entire court of Sparta had just witnessed this incident. Her face became more heated just thinking about it.

Reaching down, Helen tried to help her daughter up from her position on the ocean floor. Pushing herself up, Panthea came to stand next her mother. She was wobbly at first, trying to regain her balance. She tried to take a step forward, but was met with a searing pain from her leg. Looking down, she realized her peplos had been cut and gash had formed on her lower calf. She grimaced at the sight, the blood making her feel uncomfortable. She may have been trained to be a warrior, but blood still made her nauseous.

Panthea's vision became blurry as she looked at the cut, her body swaying as she swallowed down bile that had risen in her throat. Her already alabaster came became paler and she began to shake. Helen looked concerned as she held her daughter against her breast. Looking up, Helen noticed Menelaus hastening towards them, Achilles on his heels as well as the other men he had been conversing with. And it was a blessing that they had for Panthea began to faint.

At first, everything went dark to Panthea. It was if her eyes had closed on their volition. She tried to speak, but her words were caught in her throat. Time began to slow as she fell backwards. It felt like forever as her body began its descent to the ground. Achilles sped like a phantom through the men to catch Panthea before she hit the ground, no one noticing him until he held Panthea in his arms.

Helen was crying, fretting over her daughter's health. She didn't even care that it was Achilles that held her daughter. She ran her hand over her daughter's forehead, murmuring words to her that no one could hear. Menelaus began commanding his men to bring a carriage to them to send Panthea back to the palace. The combination of the sun and her injury proved too much of her and he did not want her delicate body to be harmed anymore.

Achilles looked down upon Panthea, his features unreadable to all. She was cold to the touch despite the sun beating down on their bodies. His fingers caressed the skin of her shoulders, though no one could tell. Menelaus then appeared beside him and Achilles passed the princess to her father. Both parents now cast their watchful gaze over their daughter. Hermione also seemed distressed for her sister. She clutched her mother's gown between her fingers, silent tears falling down her face.

The men hurried to follow their king's orders, fearing what would happen if his orders were not carried out quickly. A carriage soon arrived, driven by two bay horses. A soldier opened the door for the royals, Helen entering first and then followed by Hermione. Once she was situated in the carriage, Menelaus lay Panthea in her mother's arms carefully. His face was one of worry, an expression that was seen rarely. He waved the driver off and watched as his women were taken back to the Spartan palace with their guards close behind. Menelaus soon followed on his warhorse, his men and the Myrmidons following behind.

No one noticed Achilles though and he was glad for it. Once again Panthea had managed to get herself stuck in a situation she should not be in. First, she was cornered by bandits in the woods and now she happened to injure herself while playing in the ocean. The gods had decided an odd set of events for the princess. His face was set in stone, appearing neither concerned nor angry as he was feeling at that moment. His features were trained to remain in warrior mode much like his body.

The men hurried quickly to the palace, the horses kicking up sand in their wake as they traveled from the beach to more stable ground. Menelaus was pushing his warhorse to the limit, urging the stallion to go faster and faster even though the animal could not. The horse broke out in a sweat, breathing deeply as he galloped across the Spartan plains. The other horses were in the same condition as their riders tried to keep up with the Spartan King.

Once the company arrived at the palace, Menelaus helped to remove his daughter from the carriage. He dismounted from the stallion quickly and reached for Panthea in the carriage as Helen tried to maneuver her daughter's body towards him. She was still unconscious, but she was breathing normally, making it appear as if she was sleeping. Menelaus cradled her gently in his arms, making sure she was not uncomfortable as he carried her through the corridors to her chambers. Helen and Hermione both followed and the guards had dispersed around the palace to find the physician. Menelaus's court as well as the Myrmidons had been left to their own devices for a family matter was at hand. Even Achilles had to stay away, his being forcing himself to remain with his men and focus on something other than his little warrior.

* * *

It was excruciating for Achilles, to have to wait and not do anything for hours. His men and himself refreshed themselves after the ride back to the palace before they again practiced in the training arena and then prepared themselves for dinner. Achilles seemed uninterested in it all. His mind kept thinking about Panthea, how fragile and weak she looked. The cut on her leg appeared more serious then he thought. It was deep and looked painful. Panthea would probably have a hard time walking for a while as the cut ran from her ankle to the mid part of her calf. His fists clenched and unclenched as he thought about it.

Of course, there had been some humor in the matter. Panthea had appeared more embarrassed then anything, her face a deep red as she looked at Achilles and the other courtiers after she had fallen into the ocean. Her hair was a tangled mess, plastered to her face and sticking up at odd angles. Her peplos clang to her body, making her curves more apparent. The material was almost see-through when Achilles cast his heated gaze on her. Catching her eye, he winked, making the princess even more self-conscious. It was when she stood, that he noticed the gash on her leg. And when he looked at her facial expression as she looked at her cut, he became uneasy. Her red face had turned white immediately, making her skin take an unhealthy look. When she began to waver, he realized her injury had affected her more than normal. Men were accustomed to cuts on their bodies and blood due to battle, but to a woman, only her bleeding was normal, though he wouldn't know anything about Panthea's courses. The blood was affecting her just as the young men in battle were taken over by their fears of death.

And now the mighty Achilles paced in his room, worried about a girl of all things. No one would have expected this in a thousand years. Not even the gods. He never paid this much attention to women, using them for pleasure and leaving them in the morning. He was careful though, making sure no little Achilles would come of his relations. However, Panthea had changed him, affected him much more then he would have liked. It was if she was a disease that he could not get rid of, one that had remained in his bloodstream and took over his senses. He did not mind though. She was his warrior, his princess, his gift from the gods.

A knock was then heard on the door to Achilles' chambers. His head jerked in the direction of the sound, interrupting his thoughts. He briskly walked to the door before opening it and coming face to face with Patroclus and Eudorus. They both looked uncomfortable under the gaze of their lord, Patroclus shifting his feet while Eudorus dare not meet the stark gaze of Achilles.

"My lord…" Eudorus stuttered at first. The warrior collected himself before speaking again. "The lord Menelaus will not be joining us for dinner. Him and his wife will remain with their daughter for the time being. She was checked over by the physicians who are trying to stich her leg up at the moment. Menelaus is there to hold her down."

It was then that a loud scream could be heard down the hall. Achilles flinched at the noise, his eyes closing in agony as his heard Panthea's cries bounce off the walls. Too many times had he heard that sound during war. Thankfully, it was not too serious of an injury. Only infection would need to be worried about and if Panthea's bandages were changed every so often, she would avoid that fate.

Achilles nodded at Eudorus' words before the trio made their way towards the grand hall. Even if Menelaus was not in attendance, he would remain a hospitable host to his guests and offer them all possible accommodations to make sure they enjoyed their remaining hours left in Sparta. Achilles remained bored at dinner, sipping from his chalice nonchalantly and barely touching his food. Instead of wearing his traditional armor, he had donned a simple blue chiton and gold sandals. His eyes glazed over the hall, rolling his eyes at some of the courtiers' actions while trying to listen to Patroclus discuss some matter regarding when they returned to Aegina.

It was then that Achilles spotted Menelaus enter the hall, dark circles under his eyes but a smile across his face. The king of Sparta was back to his usual self after the occurrences of that afternoon, greeting his men and guests in the usual manner. Upon reaching Achilles, the warrior took a seat next to him before ordering a servant boy to fetch him some wine. When the boy returned with his wine, Menelaus chugged down the entire contents of the chalice before holding his cup out to be refilled again. He was commanding in his actions, his voice gruff and forceful. The servant boy's hands shook as he refilled his lord's cup before being dismissed. The lad scurried off without a second glance.

Menelaus sipped from his chalice again before relaxing his muscles and leaning forwards so his elbows rested on his knees. Turning to Achilles he began to speak. "One day, when or if you have children, you'll understand what it's like to have a daughter. How you wish her pain could become yours even if multiplied." He spoke thoughtfully before taking a gulp from his chalice. He continued speaking, "I've heard screams before, the screams of by men in battle as they bled to death. The screams of my wife as she gave birth to my children. It's nothing compared to my child's cries, the continuation of your bloodline."

Achilles nodded at his ally's words, patting the older man on the back in understanding. "I cannot fathom what you have gone through, my lord. Maybe one day I will understand." Achilles may not have understood what it was like to be a father, but he did know what it felt like to have his heart pained. He held his tongue though, knowing the warrior would not be pleased if he broached the subject of courting Panthea to Menelaus at that moment. That could wait for another time in the near future. Menelaus appreciated the other soldier's words and the men clang their drinks together in a brotherly gesture.

"To the gods," Menelaus spoke. Achilles shook his head, agreeing with Menelaus, but said nothing. He was not one to reverence the gods for everything.

The rest of the night went by fairly quick, the Spartan court enjoying the festivities with their king and the Myrmidons while Helen remained with their daughters. Achilles partook in the revelries as was expected of him, but his heart was not in it. All he wanted to do was to be in the presence of his Panthea and hold her in his arms during his last hours in Sparta. Looking over at his men, he saw Patroclus beginning to nod off. He chuckled at the boy, knowing he was not accustomed to being up so late nor partaking in the drinking activities. Locking eyes with Eudorus, he pointed his head towards the door. Eudorus obeyed his master's orders, rousing Patroclus and taking the boy to his rooms. Achilles soon followed, beckoning his men to do the same and bidding Menelaus goodnight.

Achilles footsteps echoed off the halls of the Spartan palace as he made his way to his temporary sleeping chambers. The cool sea breeze hit his skin as it blew through the hall, making noise in what would have been a usually silent corridor. Turning, his made his way down another hall to his room, halting when he saw a door open to Panthea's chambers. Hiding behind a pillar, he spotted Helen leaving her daughter's room. The youthful Queen appeared tired, her appearance bedraggled as her feet dragged her to her husband's chambers. Her golden hair was limp, her eyes were dull, and her always spotless peplos was covered in blood and sweat. Her ladies followed her, probably to help the queen prepare for bed and to get rid of the soiled garments. They had already helped Panthea to bed by the look of things and it seemed Helen would be spending time in her husband's rooms.

Stealthily, Achilles removed himself from behind the pillar, making sure his movements made no sound. Slowly, he made his way towards Panthea's door, listening for any noises coming from Helen's rooms. Only the chitter chatter of her ladies could be heard as they tried to coax their lady to calm down and bathe before going to bed. His footsteps were inaudible against the marble floor as he inched his way further towards the door. Reaching his hand out, he pushed the door open, hoping it would not scrape against the floor or creak as it was opened. It didn't. He held the door open enough so his body could fit through the door, effortlessly sliding his body through the crack. He closed the door unobtrusively behind him, leaning his back against it as he looked into the chamber.

A fire burned brightly on the right side of the room, the wood crackling as it was burned by the embers. It gave an orange glow to the room, contrasting with the black sky bright with stars. Casting his gaze across the room, he spotted his little warrior staring back at him with her blue eyes. She was not asleep like he thought she would be. Instead she studied him curiously, not moving from her current position on her bed. Her peplos had been changed, her damp hair indicated she had been bathed. Her stitched leg was propped up on a pillow as she laid on her side. It was red and looked irritated, but the wound was no longer bleeding. Poultices had been placed on her tableside so she could tend to them herself, probably not wanting a physician to come in her rooms every so often to change the bandages.

Achilles made his way towards Panthea, her eyes watching his movements as he neared the bed. He bent down, leaning on his knees so he could be eye level with her. Reaching out, his calloused hand brushed against the soft skin of her cheek. Panthea closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his touch against her skin. Achilles smiled at the gesture before speaking to his little warrior.

"You know how to give me a fright my lady," he said cheekily. "Are you feeling better now that they have your leg stitched?" Panthea nodded at his words, placing her hand over his. Achilles tone then turned serious. "I heard your scream down the hall. I hope you were not in too much pain."

Panthea blushed at his words, realizing that the whole entire palace had probably heard her cries of pain as well as her mother's loud sobbing as she fretted over Panthea. "I didn't mean to cause anyone trouble," she spoke softly, casting her eyes downwards in embarrassment. Achilles chuckled at her words, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"You did not little warrior." Achilles moved his hand from her cheek to her arm, rubbing in soft, circular motions. "You only worried me. Menelaus and Helen were as well. It's only natural." He continued stroking Panthea's arm, looking down at Panthea's injured leg. She fidgeted as he looked at it, uncomfortable with his staring. Looking back up at her, he said comfortingly, "It will heal. There may be a scar, but it will not mar your skin badly if the dressings are changed as they are supposed. You have nothing to worry about Panthea." Panthea smiled at the great warrior in front of her. She trusted him and knew his words were true and sincere.

It was then that Achilles leaned forward, testing the waters as his face stopped inches away from Panthea's. She shivered at the close proximity, letting in a deep breath as her eyes moved from Achille's piercing eyes to his lips and back up again. She had never made the first move before, Achilles often engaging first. Her eyes looked into his innocently as she bit her bottom lip. She urged herself to meet him the rest of the way, closing her eyes as their lips met softly. Their mouths moved together in sync, Achilles reaching forward to hold the back of her head in the palm of his hand while the other grasped her waist.

Panthea whimpered at the contact, holding on tightly to Achilles shoulders with her hands. She could feel the heat of his body as he loomed over her, menacingly and protectively. He was like a predator and a protector combined, eliciting emotions from Panthea that only he could make her feel. She felt dominated as he plunged his tongue into her mouth, exploring every corner and crevice as he did the same with his hands on her body. He then slid her nightgown down the length of her arms and upper torso, exposing her chest to his greedy eyes. He scanned every inch of her body, lust overtaking him minute by minute. Panthea let him look, looking at the expression on his face. She laid her arms by her side and did not try to block her body from his view.

Achilles descended on Panthea like a starving man, kissing every inch of skin he could reach. When he bit down or nibbled on her soft flesh, Panthea would make the most beautiful sounds fall from her lips, making Achilles grin. He settled between her legs, being careful not to budge her injured leg, and lifted her nightgown up the length of her body until the material rested on her upper thighs. He grasped the unwounded leg and positioned it around his waist, his hand rubbing up and down the exposed skin. Panthea explored his body, her hands moving of their own accord. Her nails dug into the skin of his chiseled chest, earning a growl from the warrior above her. In response, Achilles placed one of Panthea's rosy pebbles in his mouth making her pull him closer as his attentions turned to her breasts. Switching his mouth to the other breast, he palmed the one he had abandoned for that small sliver of time.

Panthea cried out in ecstasy, her back arching off her bed as she let the pleasurable sensations run through her body. It was as if a fire had engulfed her soul. Her noises urged Achilles onward as he moved his hand on her upper thigh closer to her intimate place between her legs. She froze for a moment, her hand darting out from its position on Achille's chest to his wrist. He halted then, his eyes filled with desire as he looked into her frightened doe-like ones.

"It will not hurt," Achilles spoke huskily. Bringing his face next to Panthea's ear, he nibbled on the soft skin. Panthea shuddered at the feeling. "Let me pleasure you," he spoke sensuously.

Achilles then continued the movements of his hand, Panthea having released her grip on his wrist and instead, had locked her arms around his neck as she pulled him down to kiss her. She was trying to distract herself from what he was about to do, that much was apparent to Achilles. He chuckled at the naïve maiden underneath him. He had never had a girl this inexperienced before, but then again, that was why Panthea was special to him. To hadn't been corrupted by the ways of the royal courts and with a mother like hers, she was sure to keep her maidenhead before marriage.

Tentatively, Achilles ran his fingers over the folds of Panthea's center. She bucked her hips up, biting on her lip as she accustomed herself to the feeling of his hand between her thighs. Achilles removed himself from her lips, staring down as he watched her facial expression change as he touched her. She breathed deeply as he gently moved his fingers over her folds before circling her clit. She began to whine breathlessly as he continued the motions, relishing in the way she was thrashing beneath him. Achilles then moved his hand to her opening, his pointer finger running over it for a moment before he plunged inside. Panthea gave out a loud cry as he entered her, her body jerking upwards. Achilles groaned as well, his finger sliding in and out of her wet folds. She felt just as he thought she would, tight, slick, and soft. It was as if she was the softest of silks.

Achilles pace became faster as his animalistic hunger took over, his finger quickening inside of Panthea. She began yelling his name out now as she gripped the sheets beneath her firmly. The pleasure he was giving her was so much. Overtaken by his own feelings, Achilles hand made his way under his chiton and grabbed his hard length. He began pumping himself, building himself up for release as he did Panthea. Panthea heard the noises that were coming from his actions, but paid no mind to them. She was lost in her own world as well. Within seconds, Panthea's climax came, her screaming out Achilles name in rapture. Achilles followed, roaring out his climax as his essence spilled onto the sheets below him. They both breathed deeply as they came down from their highs.

Removing his hand from his length and his finger from Panthea's core. Achilles hands rested on either side of Panthea as he laid on her between her legs. His head rested on her chest as his arms circled her waist. Panthea ran her hands through his golden mane as he listened to the sound of her heart thumping in her chest. Lifting his head up, the pair's eyes connected, both filled with happiness.

Reaching his hand forwards, Achilles hand stroked Panthea's cheek as he leaned in to press a chaste kiss on her lips. She smiled at the gesture, knowing what they had just done only brought them closer. Situating themselves, the two fell asleep together, Achilles resting behind Panthea. Her back was facing him as he held her tight against her chest, not wanting to let go for tomorrow would separate them.

* * *

The sun shone brightly in Panthea's chambers that morning, the light filtering through the opening that led to the balcony. It awakened Panthea from her slumber when it crossed her face. She opened her eyes, irritated that the light had appeared. Her vision was blurry at first, adjusting itself to her surroundings before becoming clear. Sitting up, she saw Achilles was gone, but the space beside her was still warm. He had just left to avoid being caught by Helen and the servants who would already be attending to their duties. A smile lit up her face as she thought about what had transpired between them the night before. Her leg was stinging, but it was nothing compared to the searing pain she had felt yesterday. She dressed the wound as she was supposed to before preparing for the day. Rising from her bed, Panthea stripped out of her nightgown before changing into an elegant blue peplos. The dress was held in place by two silver clips and a silver belt hung from her waist. She left her hair in a simple braid, not wanting her hair to be made elaborate that day. Soon after she finished readying herself, her mother and her ladies entered.

Helen and her head lady, Alexandra, were both surprised the princess was already awake and ready as she rarely woke early, choosing to sleep away the day. Helen went to embrace her daughter, examining her injury in the process. "Are you feeling better now sweetheart?" she questioned her eldest daughter. She had been worried sick all night, letting Menelaus comfort her which she never let him do.

"I am. It doesn't hurt as much now," Panthea answered meekly.

Helen nodded at her daughter's words. "Well, that is good." She then began leading her daughter to the door. "We must be off now. The Myrmidons are to leave within the next half hour and must bid them farewell before they depart." A frown appeared on Panthea's face before she turned it into a neutral one. Helen had caught the expression though, her mouth forming into a thin line indicating how she was not pleased with what she had just seen.

The group made their way through the walls of the Spartan palace before coming to the entrance. The grounds before the palace steps were in a frenzy. Carts were being packed, horses tacked, and orders were being yelled out across the courtyard. Menelaus was seen at the bottom of the steps embraced in a brotherly hug with the mighty Achilles.

"You and your Myrmidons are always welcome Achilles," Menelaus spoke. He enjoyed the man's company unlike Agamemnon who despised the warrior. Achilles nodded respectfully at the man's words before glancing behind the king of Sparta. Helen and Panthea both stood at the top of the palace steps, the princess looking beautiful as always. She gave him a gentle smile, blushing as his eyes darkened with desire. His jaw tightened just thinking about her naked beneath him. He turned away, taking a deep breath and getting control of his emotions before setting his gaze back on Menelaus's women who were descending the stairs.

"Your graces" Achilles spoke, bowing before Panthea and Helen. Helen eyed him suspiciously like she always did before standing next to Menelaus and leading him a few feet away, whispering to him in hushed tones. Panthea took that opportunity to move herself closer to Achilles, passing to him a golden chain she had hidden on herself. She gave it to him discreetly her hand brushing against his and depositing the trinket in it.

Whispering to Achilles, Panthea murmured, "To remind you of me." Her eyes were gloomy, a downcast expression on her face. "I don't not want you to go." She felt vulnerable in that moment, but she did not care. Her heart now belonged to Achilles and it was leaving with his departure. A tear trailed down her cheek before she brushed it off.

"I do not either my little warrior." Achilles sported a grim look. "I will wear this all the time so you will be with me always." Discreetly, he lifted Panthea's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. Panthea gave him a small smile in return. Hearing Eudorus call to him, he bid Panthea farewell before turning and mounting his warhorse. Once he was situated, he called out orders to his men to get in a formation before they took off. Galloping down the road, Achilles cast one more glance back at Panthea. She was still watching him, her white blond hair blowing in the wind. He then focused back at the task at hand. He had begun discussing his courtship of Panthea to Menelaus. Gods permitting, the king of Sparta would send the terms of their agreement to him soon.

* * *

Looking out on the horizon, Hector let out a sigh as he watched the waves crash against each other. Poseidon had blessed their journey so far, their ship having not encountered any storms or problems. He and his company, along with Paris, had set sail for their diplomatic mission to Sparta a few weeks ago and would arrive soon. A troubled look appeared on his countenance thinking about the conversation he had with Priam before they left Troy. Priam was still determined to make permanent ties with Sparta with a marriage contract along with their peace agreement. He had again guilted Hector into making it his duty as the heir to the Trojan throne to seek out another wife. However, Priam had agreed that if Hector disliked the girl that one of his other sons would be offered for the match.

Hector was not looking forward to the meeting as he would have his father's conversation on his mind as well as the fact that he would have to worry about Paris's extracurricular activities, otherwise known as bedding all women regardless of their marriage or social status. He did not want to deal with Paris's immature behavior, but Priam had insisted he go along anyways, thinking the trip would give Paris some type of responsibility. All he wanted to do was get this trip over with and be reunited with his wife and son.

Hearing the yells of the sailors brought him away from his thoughts. Land had been spotted, the coast of Sparta. Hector then descended onto the lower deck to change into his traditional armor. Paris was present, changing into his formal attire as well. Speaking in a threatening tone, hector said to Paris, "Whatever you do, do not make a fool of yourself and embarrass our father. Do you understand?"

Paris looked terrified of his older brother, gulping audibly and shaking his head at his brother's words. Hector scanned his brother's face for sincerity before returning to the upper deck. As the company reached the harbor, the Trojan barge was met with Menelaus and his courtiers. All of them sat upon their magnificent steeds, waiting for the Trojan princes to exit the ship. Giving commands to the captain of the vessel, Hector and his company descended onto the Spartan shore and were met with cries of welcome from Menelaus. As he greeted the King of Sparta, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye, a woman with white-blond hair, such a unique trait in a woman of Greece. It was then he recalled the prophecy of his sister, Cassandra, and his jaw dropped: A princess of fire covered in snow. Could this be the woman his sister had been speaking of?

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you liked the chapter. It's my longest one yet! What do you guys think of the interactions between Panthea and Achilles? What about Hector's reaction to seeing Panthea? Had to end with a cliffhanger, makes things more interesting ;) please review**


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.**

 **A/N: So, this chapter is kind of a filler but the beginning of the movie will be present at the end so that will be our little intro** **so excited that its really starting now. There's going to be some Panthea and Hector interaction but he's still freaked out about Cassandra's prophecy. Hello to my new favs/followers: dvildead, Naomi97, Pizza-Slut-5-Life, and randyorton'sgirl. Love you all and thank you for reviewing. Makes my day! 3**

 **Response to Guest: Don't worry. Everyone is split between team Achilles and team Hector haha its make a better story ;)**

 **Percilla: No problem! I always like to answer reviews no matter if you have an account or not. Haha I would have that problem too. Both men are pretty appealing to me. Such a hard decision. Thank you!**

 **Ch. 7**

* * *

" **All things are in the hand of heaven, and Folly, eldest of Jove's daughters, shuts men's eyes to their destruction. She walks delicately, not on the solid earth, but hovers over the heads of men to make them stumble or to ensnare them."**

― **Homer,** _ **The Iliad**_

* * *

The King of gods was lounging in the garden of Olympus, his imposing presence sitting erect in a throne of gold as he watched Demeter tend to the flowers of the garden. As the goddess of agriculture, the harvest, and the fertility of the Earth, she presided over the mortals as a type of Earth goddess as Gaia had. She was also known as a sort of consort of Zeus, being the mother of his child, Persephone. Her hair looked as if it was spun of gold as it was held up by brooches on her head to keep stray hairs from falling. She had cat-like eyes of emerald green, reflecting her kind nature that could turn deadly in a second. Her body was covered in that of yellow silk, molding to her curves wonderfully. Even though she was considered one of the "older" goddesses, she still retained her youthful beauty. Her hands emitted a golden glow as she waved them over a mound of soil she had made and a beautiful poppy rose from the ground, her symbol often seen growing with barley.

Zeus had been relaxing in the gardens that day, enjoying the company of his so-called wife as he hid from the other one. Hera was being a nuisance as of late, always nagging him and trying to sway his mind on the whole Panthea matter. That woman infuriated him to no end, saying how normal Panthea was and that she didn't deserve the attention of her great warrior, Achilles. However, Zeus could not help whom Aphrodite cast her eyes on and ordered Cupid to strike with his arrows.

Watching Demeter, he was graced with one of her charming smiles before she returned to her work. Hearing a rustle behind him, he turned his head to see three of his children coming towards him: Athena, Apollo, and Artemis. The twins both held their hunting gear in hand, bows and arrows, whiles Athena carried her wise owl on her shoulder. The trio had encountered each other on their way to their father after they had finished performing their tasks of the day and decided to see him together to provide a united front for their cause. They had come to update the mighty Zeus on his beloved Panthea. Much trouble had been caused by her lately and her patrons wished to tell their father all that had transpired, first between Achilles and Panthea and now with Hector, Prince of Troy. Her training was progressing nicely, her body getting stronger and faster every day. Her intelligence was also unmatched by all, her challenging nature becoming noticeable.

"Why have you come here my children?" Zeus questioned the three of them. "Do you have news for me of our champion?" Demeter's attention was caught by Zeus's words, though she remained as if she had not heard a thing and continued her gardening. She was curious of this child, Panthea. She was like her Persephone, before she was abducted by Hades. In some ways, she was an innocent soul still unplagued by the actions of man. Panthea was clueless to her virtue and beauty that attracted men to her. Of course, only honorable men and warriors were deemed suitable for the granddaughter of the mighty Zeus of Olympus, Achilles and Hector included.

"Father," Apollo spoke first, "We have indeed come to discuss Panthea." Zeus's eyes lit up with interest. He was intrigued by his so-called granddaughter. "She has been lectured by us in her dreams yet she still wavers over the idea if it is the gods conversing with her. She is not frightened, only confused. She still has not recognized her full purpose, only that the time of Agamemnon has reigned for too long. She already despises the man and we have shown her that he will die, but she still does not understand that it will be her doing, that she will cause his demise." Athena looked to her father for an answer as she finished speaking. Artemis stood by Apollo, worried that her siblings work would not be enough for their father.

Zeus stroked his beard thoughtfully, running his fingers through the rough strands. His children's progress was moving along nicely, but things needed to be spurred into action. Athena then spoke up again. "Achilles has left, his reason wavering for all he thinks of Panthea. Aphrodite has struck him yet he still resists it somewhat. He is a man of his own. And now the Trojan retinue has arrived, Hector not knowing what to think of our champion. Both men are within her fate father, but even we can intervene so much. She will have to decide if she will follow her path or not." Zeus nodded at his eldest daughter's words. As the goddess of wisdom, he valued her opinion above all else. She was intelligent beyond her years, her mother being the goddess of the quality before Zeus swallowed her for fear of her child being too powerful. Athena emerged from his head one afternoon, the cause of a massive headache. That was the story of Athena's birth and would forever remain intact with the gods' history.

"Good," Zeus spoke, pleased with what was occurring. "And yes, only she can decide her destiny from this point. We cannot become too involved with mortals lives for they are the cause of their fortune and their misgivings." Athena shook her head at her father. Looking to her siblings, the three bowed and left their father in peace with their preferred consort. They went on their, discussing amongst themselves the next step in their plan. All would be as it should and Panthea would control what her fate would be.

* * *

Hector had been avoiding the Spartan princess at all costs, not entering conversations with her as was expected. He greeted her and paid his respects, but that was it. It was not that she was unpleasant to look at. In fact, he thought her to be unique in appearance with her white-blond hair and sea blue eyes. Her pale skin was not ugly, but appealed to him because of how smooth and bright it looked in the sunlight. She was slim with smaller hips than usual and of shorter height, but her body was well proportioned and her legs proved how quick she could be. He was never alone with her for fear of Cassandra's prophecy. Her visions had never affected him, but this one seemed as if it was true. Many times, Hector had caught the princess with an inquisitive look on her face, her head tilted to the side as she eyed him in his actions. Hector would turn away, uncomfortable that she was judging him. Only his father ever did that and it unnerved him.

Panthea was titillated by the man, how he was so unlike Achilles, yet they shared some qualities. She was amused by his behavior, how he rejected every maiden that set themselves in his path. Many ended their conversations with sour looks on their faces and it entertained Panthea to all ends. She watched him, studied him as he conducted the business of the court with her father. He was more of a diplomat than a warrior she thought, but he proved her wrong when she saw him on the training field. Only Achilles rivaled him in skill or perhaps, could be his better. His looks were dark, but that made him appear more rugged and handsome than the Dardanians. His beard accentuated his masculine looks and with his broad shoulders and defined muscles, he looked like a force to be reckoned with. Hector did not strike Panthea as a predatorial type of man. He was more honorable and trustworthy than most princes and she admired that about him. He had an air around him of authority, but humility, something Achilles did not possess. He did not flaunt his abilities, but commanded attention wherever he went. He was kind to all, giving them the respect that he deemed rightful. He knew he was better than most, being of royal stock, but he never tried to put people in their place, never tried to make them feel lower than they already were. It was if Achilles was the sun and Hector the moon, both forces of the universe who ruled in their perspective spheres, but also rivaled one another in their greatness.

Paris, however, was the opposite of Hector per Panthea. He was not cruel, but he was arrogant of his looks and let others know it. He was neither a diplomat or a warrior, but a younger son of Priam who was pampered rather than prepped for duty. Hector was the more accomplished of the brothers though Paris had not been cast in his shadow. He made one of his own for others to follow, especially women.

When Panthea had first encountered the Trojans, she was curious of them. They had darker looks about them than the Greeks did, but their eyes made up for it. No matter what color they were, it seemed to Panthea that every one of them had a warmth to their color. The Trojans were a noble breed and Menelaus had often commented on how much he venerated them. Hector had watched her with a wary expression though, but his eyes never lost their kindness. Paris looked at her indifferently, his gaze more on Helen than Panthea. She had noticed immediately after the royal parties had greeted each other that Paris's eyes followed her mother like a magnet and Helen did the same to him. When she caught them looking at one another, however chaste looks they were, her mouth would form into a thin line and her eyes would narrow. She knew something was happening between them, though she prayed to the gods it was just a fleeting attraction. It seemed the elder Prince of Troy noticed too, but he did not notice Panthea's quick wit in the matter as well.

At the current moment, the Trojan and Spartan royals were in one of the various palace gardens enjoying the rays of sunshine and the fresh air. The hyacinths were in bloom as well as the lilies, narcissuses, and poppies. It was an odd combination, but the princesses of Sparta had insisted on those types of flowers in that particular garden. It was their favorite, especially to Panthea since it was the one Achilles had first tried to kiss her. Menelaus sat with his men as well as his royal quests in one portion of the garden. Helen and the women of the court lounged across from them, an awning set up above them so the hot sun would not burn their skin. Alexandra, Helen's head lady, was braiding Hermione's hair while another lady played the lyre. Slave and servant girls waved large fan like structures around them to keep the ladies cool. The women were engaged in court gossip and motherly advice while the men discussed wars, strategic planning of wars, and the training of troops. Other topics included trade, conversations of other nations, and women. Every so often, Paris would eye Helen greedily when no one was watching him. She would look at him through hooded eyes and flutter her eyelashes at him coquettishly before casting her gaze back at her lap again. Helen knew she was treading on a dangerous boundary. She prayed to the gods that they would not strike her down for her sins against her husband and as of yet, nothing dreadful had occurred. However, if she was caught and Menelaus was informed, it would be the end for her and maybe her Trojan lover, though that would only cause chaos with Troy. So far, their secret trysts had remained undiscovered and Helen hoped it would remain that way.

Panthea had remained behind in her rooms, reading from one of the many scrolls her father had given her to study. They ranged from maps of Greece to the works of Nestor and his story of the Argonauts as well as others. Her forehead creased as she read over the map of Troy. It was not in Greece, not near the other great kings, but was settled in Anatolia. They had allies surrounding them, but they were by far the greatest nations there. The other cities paid their tribute to Troy, bringing wealth and prosperity. Placing the scroll down, she brushed a stray hair out of her face before rising from her chair. She thought it was time she joined the others, having been late enough already.

Exiting her rooms, Panthea's guards followed her loyally as she trekked through the palace walls. Her seafoam colored peplos trailed behind her and her silver coronet glittered in the sunlight. The colors fit her complexion beautifully, making her appear goddess-like. As she entered the gardens, she waved her guards off, telling them she would be alright by herself. Leaning against a white marble column, she watched the festivities below her as she stood on the platform in front of the staircase leading to the gardens. The women and men were within the same area yet separated as was expected. She shook her head at the sight. The essence of war was perhaps too gruesome for ladies to hear.

She began to make her way down the staircase, her face lighting up in amusement as her father let out a loud roar at something one of the men just said. Spotting her, he winked and beckoned her towards him. Helen saw the action, and shook her head at Panthea telling her to come to the women instead, but Panthea ignored her and went to her father. Reaching out, Menelaus pulled his daughter into his lap, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Tell me men," Menelaus said proudly, "Isn't my daughter the prettiest woman in all of Sparta?" The men all let out hearty cheers, making Panthea blush. She leaned back into her father's embrace, enjoying the comfort he gave her. Unlike what many thought, Menelaus was loving towards his children, doting on them often, especially Panthea. He knew she was given by the gods for a purpose, but he did not know what for. Menelaus continued joking with the men. "Tell me Prince Paris, how would you like to have my daughter as your wife? You'd be King of Sparta after my death and have your own kingdom instead of sharing with your brother." He let out a loud chuckle, the men joining in.

"I think his grace has little time for marriage father. Besides, his eye is on someone else already." Panthea eyed Paris with a piercing look, as if she was staring into the depths of his soul. Her look and tone were serious, but no one noticed. Instead, they let out loud roars at the princess's words. Hector raised his eyebrows at Panthea, clearly amused she had ousted his brother, but wary of the edge in her voice. She apparently knew what was happening between her mother and Paris as well. Rising from her position in her father's lap, she flashed a cat like grin before bowing and moving towards her mother.

"That one, untamable I tell you," Menelaus spoke. "She could rival any man, my daughter." He took a sip of wine from his chalice, the conversation then turning to another subject. Hector cast his gaze upon Panthea as she walked away. She was a mystery to him and as much as he wanted to stay away, he was drawn to her. Their eyes locked at that moment, dark brown meeting sea blue. She didn't look away as she should have, her innocence shining at him brightly, but something secret lay underneath her naïve nature. Her eyes were beckoning him to her, like a siren to its prey. He couldn't look away, no matter how hard he tried. He was awakened from his stupor when a servant refilled his wine cup and the connection was broken.

* * *

It was raining downpours and the sky was pitchback with the occasional lightning illuminating the vast expanse of darkness. One could barely see the space in front of them, nothing visible at all until Zeus's bolts lit up the sky. A man walked through the dense blackness, his hands stretched out in front of him with his sword attached to his belt on his waist. His body was covered in full armor: a breastplate and greaves to protect the lower legs. His shield was attached to his back, a design of silver and gold imprinted upon it which detailed the labors of mighty Heracles and his ascent into Olympus. The wind was chilling yet the warrior did not shiver at all. In fact, his muscles tensed and his jaw clenched as the wind swept across his face.

Moving across the ground, he realized he was standing on one of the many plains of Greek land, rolling hills and flat earth. Another strike of lightning darted across the sky, and for a moment, the man could make out a figure, dancing in the rain. Her peplos clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination. The material was see threw and did nothing to protect the woman's modesty. Her breasts were visibly seen through the wet fabric, the rosy peaks and round mounds at their perfection in life. No lines marred her skin. She was the apex of life, her youth in bloom. Her white skin made her appear more like a vision rather than a real person. Turning, the warrior saw that the woman's almost white hair was plastered onto her face despite the rough winds. A devious smile appeared on her face, and she reached her hand out to him in question before rushing across the expanse of the field. A voice could be heard calling to her and was what had made her turn from him.

Hurrying away from him, the man followed the woman, his loins already hot with the flame of desire. His breathing became heavy as he sprinted after her, not wanting to lose sight. It was then a shadow appeared out of nowhere, grasping the woman out of thin air. She embraced the figure, looking back to the man with sorrow in her eyes before bursting into flames. Within those flames, the figures emerged, lost in the sins of the flesh. The woman cried out in pleasure as she was devoured by the mysterious figure. Her eyes connected with the warrior, calling to him, before she let out a horrific scream.

Achilles awoke from his nightmare, shaking in anger and sweat clinging to his body as he tried to erase the image of Panthea from his head. He hands clenched the furs of his bed, threatening to break the material. He had had the nightmare three times now, although this one had been longer than the others and Panthea had burst into flames. He didn't know what it meant, he didn't want to know. He just wanted to be reunited with his beloved warrior before Helen tried to marry her off to one of the Trojans. Grasping the gold chain around his neck, he rubbed his fingers over the smooth medallion attached to it, calming the beast within.

Evening out his breathing, he looked down next to him, disgusted at the maiden lying next to him. He was revolted with himself, he had been when he brought the woman to his bed. His sexual drive had lasted far longer than he thought, but he had needed to let out his frustrations before things had gotten worse. He was only a man. As he rose from the bed, he tied a chiton around his waist before exiting onto his balcony. _Panthea would understand_ he thought as he braced himself against the concrete wall. His arms were stretched out in from of him as he hands griped the balcony's edge and his legs were braced to hold his weight. _She knows I have my needs and that I would never do this to hurt her. It will be different once we are married._ He cried out in vexation as he punched the wall, his body crying out in pain, but his voice not uttering a sound. _I deserve it_ he spoke in his mind as he tuned his body to slide down the wall. Assessing the damage, he saw that his knuckle was red and bloody from his actions and he cursed himself again. With his knees pressed against his chest, Achilles let the blood drip down from his hand and slide across his fingers until it dripped to the marble floor beneath him. It would heal, but the thought that Panthea would hate him plagued his mind. She might forgive him, but he would not forgive himself.

* * *

"Brothers in arms!" Menelaus yelled through the crowd at the banquet within his Spartan reception hall. It was the last night of the Trojans stay and he was delivering his goodbye speech. His body was clothed in a fine garment of red cloth with jewels signaling his status around his neck. Helen sits next to him in her chair, her eyes downcast as her husband speaks next to her. Her hair was arranged in a simple style for the evening, nothing too elaborate. She too was wearing red, her peplos a darker red than the robe she wore over it. Gold chains hung from her neck and gold earrings shined from her ears. Panthea sat on Menelaus's other side, smiling up at her father as he spoke to the men. She was a vision in white and a large diamond hung from her neck between her breasts, a gift from her father for her upcoming birthday. Her hair was also arranged in a simple fashion to hang over her shoulders in bountiful waves. They were the only women in the room and their presence outshined that of the many warriors.

"Friendship!" Menelaus spoke as he holds his goblet out towards the men.

"Friendship!" The warriors replied to their King and host.

"Princes of Troy, on our last night together, Queen Helen and I salute you. We've had our conflicts before, it's true. We fought many battles, Sparta and Troy. And fought well!" The men cheer drunkenly around them. Helen and Paris connect eyes for a moment before she demurely casts them downwards again. Paris continues to stare. "But I have always respected your father. Priam is a good king, a good man. I respected him as an adversary. I respect him now as my ally." More cheering erupts from the massive crowd. "Hector, Paris, young princes, come. Stand. Drink with me." Hector rises from his position, but Paris continues to stare across the table at Helen. Annoyed with his brother, Hector nudges him to get his attention and Paris stands quickly. Panthea raises her eyebrows at the scene, her eyes narrowing at Hector. If looks could kill, Paris would have been to the underworld and back several times. "Let us drink to peace." Menelaus speaks.

Hector nods at Menelaus's words before raising his cup. "To peace between Troy and Sparta." All the men drink heavily from their cups before slamming them down on the table in front of them.

"May the gods keep the wolves in the hills and the women in our beds," Menelaus yells out to the men. They all cheer drunkenly and rise to their feet. A band of musicians strike up a tune before hired dancers for the evening emerge from the corridor and into the banquet hall. The men all howl at the sight of the beautiful women, each attaching themselves to one of the dancers to entertain themselves for the evening.

Walking from his seat, Menelaus rounds the table before grabbing Hector in a bear hug. Hector sportingly accepts the embrace. "For the gods," Menelaus speaks, of which Hector says in return as they cling their cups together, wine falling onto the floor. Menelaus then pats Hector's upper arm, the muscles clearly seen under the armor of the Prince of Troy. "A strong the gods we made peace. I've seen too many of my men struck down with this arm," Menalus says solemnly.

"Never again, I hope," Hector says sincerely, a serious expression gracing his features.

"Only one man works a sword better than you. The son of Peleus the Argonaut."

"Achilles."

While the men are talking, Helen looks annoyed that she must sit in the hall on display. Panthea is oblivious to her mother's discomfort, her eyes lighting up in delight as she watched the dancers. She giggles at the men flirting with them.

"That madman would throw a spear at Zeus himself if the god insulted him." Menelaus lets out a drunken laugh at his joke, Hector joining in. Menelaus then pats Hector as he continues laughing at his jest and points towards one of the dancers who stares at Hector openly. "You see that one over there? I picked her just for you. She's a little lioness." Menelaus grins at the girl, who lowers her eyes and smiles. He strokes the skin of her shoulder before she dances past them alluringly. Helen notices the silent exchange but ignores it, and rises from her seat.

"Thank you. My wife waits for me in Troy." Hector had no desire to lay with another woman, although the thought of Panthea did appear in his head. He dismissed the image before he could dwell on it more.

"My wife waits for me right there." Menelaus points towards Helen before leaning forward to whisper in Hector's ear. "Wives are for breeding. You understand? For making little princes. Come, enjoy yourself tonight." Helen then walks out of the reception hall before Menelaus notices, Panthea following her with her eyes, a frown on her face.

Hector raises his cup to Menelaus, changing the subject. "You make excellent wine in Sparta." Menelaus laughs and pats Hector again. He leaves the prince to himself, Hector drinking from his cup deeply. Paris excuses himself from the Spartan generals he's been speaking with and heads in the same direction as Helen, up a staircase and towards the private chambers of the royals. Hector watches him, an agitated as well as angered expression appearing on his face.

* * *

Helen sits in her chambers, a fire burning brightly in the middle of the room, as she combs her golden hair. She looks up as she hears a sound from the door. Paris enters before barring the door behind him. "You shouldn't be here," Helen speaks meekly.

"That's what you said last night," Paris mutters.

"Last night was a mistake."

"And the night before?"

Helen continues to comb her hair, frustrated at Paris's words. "I've made many mistakes this week." Paris makes his way towards her before stroking the skin of her neck and shoulders. Helen leans into his embrace, enjoying the feel of his fingers against her skin.

"Do you want me to go?" Paris questions. Helen rises from her chair, staring at Paris for a moment before releasing the pins from her peplos. The fabric falls to the floor and Paris stares in hunger. Helen reaches foreword, her lips meeting his urgently. The couple descends onto the bed where they proceed to make love.

* * *

Meanwhile, downstairs in the reception hall, the rowdy soldiers are conversing loudly in the hall. Hector nods his head as he passes the partygoers, stopping a he sets his sight on the stairs where he saw Paris disappear. He turns, a look of rage on his face. Panthea is not far from his own feeling, her eyes also watching the stairs. Menelaus is sitting not far from her, one of the dancers on his laps whom he kisses lustfully. She rolls her eyes at the scene, clearly not content with her father's behavior.

* * *

"Pearls from the Sea of Propontis" Paris says as he pulls out a string of pearls from his belongings laying on the ground. Helen raises herself up from the bed, her naked body bathing in the firelight. She reaches out to take the beautiful gift, but Paris places it on her neck.

"They're beautiful." Helen strokes the smooth texture of the pearls before a downcast look appears on her face. "But I can't wear them. Menelaus would kill us both." Paris strokes her face and runs his hands down the length of her neck to her shoulder and then her arm.

"Don't be afraid of him," speaks Paris. His eyes speak volumes as he looks at her encouragingly.

"I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of tomorrow." Helen reaches up, her hand covering her mouth and touching her face as she tries not to cry. "I'm afraid of watching you sail away and knowing you'll never come back." She strokes her lovers face gently, tracing the contours of his face so she can imprint them in her mind. "Before you came to Sparta, I was a ghost. I walked, and I ate, and I swam in the sea, but I was just a ghost." A mournful look mars her pretty facial features.

"You don't have to fear tomorrow. Come with me." Paris speaks urgently and Helen looks up at him, her eyes widening at his words.

"Don't play with me. Don't play."

"If you come, we'll never be safe. Men will hunt us, the gods will curse us. But I'll love you." Helen gasps at his words. "Until the day, they burn my body, I will love you." Helen smiles at him lovingly, tears falling down his face before she speaks.

"I will go with you," Helen speaks happily, a smile forming on Paris's face, "But, Panthea must come with us. I can't leave her here, with him. Please say she can come too. She is my whole world Paris. I cannot leave her to the same fate as me. She may be her father's daughter, but she is my daughter too." Paris considers the idea, before nodding. Helen embraces him, crying as she dreams about their life together. Paris strokes her hair, thoughts churning in his brain. He didn't know how he was to get them both out of Sparta, but he would do, for Helen, for the woman he would love for the rest of his life.

* * *

A group of Trojan and Spartan soldiers are lying on various skins and furs that cover the marble floor of the palace reception hall. A few are lounging lazily with women, others sleep, and a few continue to drink and sing old war songs. Hector comes to stand in front of Tecton, the largely built captain of the elite Apollonian Guard, whom rises to his feet when he sees Hector.

"Make the proper offerings to Poseidon before we sail. We don't need any more widows in Troy," Hector speaks with authority.

"Goat or pig?" Tecton questions, a small grin forming on his features.

"Which does the Sea God prefer?" Hector chuckles.

"I'll wake the priest and ask him." Tecton bows and exits the reception hall.

Looking up, Hector sees Paris coming the down the stairs that led to the Spartan royals' private chambers. His brother looks up for a moment, seeing Hector, and tries to head towards his quarters.

"Paris!" Hector speaks sternly, an annoyed expression his face that he was just ignored. Paris turns and smiles, acting as if he hadn't seen Hector before. Paris saunters over to join his brother. "You should get to bed. We won't sleep on land again for weeks."

"I have no trouble sleeping on the seas. The sea nymphs sing lullabies to me," Paris replies cheekily.

"And who sang lullabies to you tonight?" Hector questions, scanning Paris's face for any change in its countenance. Paris freezes for a moment but quickly regains his poise.

"Tonight?" Paris stumbles over his words for a moment. "Tonight, was the fisherman's wife. A lovely creature." He smiles half-heartily at his brother.

"I hope you didn't let the fisherman catch you," said Hector as he played along with his brother's lie.

"He's more concerned with the fish." Paris smiles and starts to walk away but Hector grasps his arm tightly and holds him in place.

"You do understand why we're in Sparta?" Hector asks with a serious look, his eyes darkening.

"For peace," Paris replies.

"And you do understand that Menelaus, King of Sparta, is a powerful man? And that his brother, Agamemnon, King of Mycenae, commands all the Greek forces?" Hector tries to get Paris to understand the consequences of his actions if he were discovered.

"What does this have to do with the fisherman's wife?" Paris questions, rolling his eyes disrespectfully at his elder brother.

Hector seizes Paris's face between his fingers, gripping the skin tightly, but not enough to cause any pain. "Paris. You're my brother, and I love you. But if you do anything to endanger Troy I'll rip your pretty face from your pretty skull." Hector voice is firm, his teeth gritting as he speaks to Paris. He releases his grip, stroking his brother's face gently. He kisses Paris on the forehead. "Get some sleep. We sail in the morning." Paris, a bit shocked by the encounter, briefly leaves.

"Not if I do it first my lord." Prince Hector turns around, seeing Panthea leaning up against the archway in the reception hall. Her eyes are deadly, her threat serious, and her body language tense. Their eyes connect for a moment, before she goes to brush past him quickly.

Hector reaches out, his hand grasping the hip farthest from him as he pulls her towards him. Their noses touch for a second as Hector looks in her eyes pleadingly. "You will not tell Menelaus, will you?" he questions. He rubs the fabric at her hip gently as he breathes in her sweet scent. It lingers in his nostrils, overtaking his senses. He stands there, trying to reign in his control. His hand tightens for a moment, not going unnoticed by Panthea.

Panthea nods timidly before speaking. "I'm not stupid my lord. Peace is what you want so peace is what we shall have." She was too close to Hector she thought, more than was appropriate, and she could feel his tightening grip at her hip, the heat of his hand seeping through her peplos. She pushes his hand off her before departing towards her chambers, her forehead creased. Hector watches her with a pain-filled look in his eyes as she dismisses the contact. He too leaves for his quarters, preparing himself for the long journey ahead.

As Panthea enters her room, she begins preparing for bed, going through her nighttime routine. Sitting down at her vanity, she brushes her white-blond hair until it shines in the light of the fire and then changes into her nightgown and washes her face before settling into bed. Her mother had not been to her rooms to say goodnight yet, which was odd. Helen always came and sat beside Panthea, waiting for her to fall asleep before she left. It was then Panthea realized there weren't any guards posted at the entrance of her chambers when she had entered. She stopped for a moment to look across her room, trying to spot any movement without it being noticeable. Little did she realize there was a figure approaching from behind. Panthea had just calmed down for a moment before a hand covered her mouth and cool liquid was shoved down her throat. She tried to spit the substance out, but her assailant plugged her nose so she could not breath. She swallowed the disgusting liquid, pushing away from the attacker. Turning around, she realized it was Prince Paris. He had a sorrowful expression on his face at what he had just done.

Helen appeared beside him, tears in her eyes. "Don't struggle sweetheart. You'll only make it worse," She said quietly.

Panthea staggered towards them, her eyes becoming clouded before she fell to the floor unconscious. Helen cried into Paris's chest at the sight, but in her heart, she thought she was doing right. The pair carried her to Paris's temporary rooms, grabbing a few items and shoving them into a bag. Helen held her daughter's sword to her chest, knowing that was the one item she would truly want. She did not say goodbye to Hermione, knowing she would not be able to leave with Paris if she did so. She was too young to understand and she hoped she would forgive her one day. On the other hand, she knew Panthea would not be happy, but this would a new beginning for them, one where they were not plagued by Menelaus.

* * *

The Trojan ship had been at sea for a few hours now, the wind blowing them in the direction of Troy. The sun beat down on the sailors, though they are not rowing because of the strong wind and current. The sails are being attended to while others play card games or dice. Hector is standing at the bow of the ship, wearing his more casual garments. The clothing bared the skin of his chest and his arms, his rippling muscles seen by all. He leans against the rail, whittling a wooden lion. Paris approaches him cautiously.

"A beautiful morning. Poseidon has blessed our voyage." Paris and Hector both look up to the sky. Hector continues working on his whittling.

"Sometimes the gods bless you in the morning and curse you in the afternoon." Hector has a thoughtful tone in his voice.

"Drop sail!" yells one of the sailors.

"Do you love me, brother? Would you protect me against any enemy?" Paris has a solemn intonation now.

Hector looks at his brother, and smiles at the memory. "The last time you spoke to me like this you were 10 years old, and you'd just stolen Father's horse. What have you done now?" He now appears to consider what Paris might have done, a serious look appearing on his face.

"I must show you something." Paris looks frightened for a moment, wondering how Hector would react. Paris walks towards the staircase leading into the depths of the ship. Hector watches him hesitantly before following. They both reach the bottom of the ladder, and Hector notices a figure covered with a cloak. The hood is pulled down to reveal Helen. She looks desperate, her eyes meeting Hector's for a moment before she moves to reveal Panthea. She's lying in a hammock, her pale skin looking whiter then it should be. Sweat clung to her forehead, and she appears to have dried tears on her face. She was sleeping, her hand wrapped around her stomach. Hector looks infuriated and distressed at the same time. Panthea was obviously not well and it had something to do with Paris getting her on the ship.

* * *

Menelaus storms into Helen's chambers, a look of rage on his face. He is flanked by armed soldiers who look scared at their master's temper. A handmaiden stands their polishing Helen's jewelry and turns when Menelaus enters. She terrified of the man and backs against the table. "Where is she?" The girl does not speak. Menelaus nears her, grabbing her roughly and baring a knife to her neck. "I swear by the father of the gods, I will gut you here if you don't tell me!"

A royal advisor appears with a with a fisherman before the woman can be injured. "My king! She left, with the Trojans. The fisherman here saw her board their ship."

"The Trojans?" Menelaus says angrily.

The fisherman speaks hesitantly. "With the young prince, Paris. She. . . ."

"Get my ship ready," Menelaus says gruffly.

"My lord," the fisherman says respectfully with a timid look in his eyes, "They took the young princess as well. It appears as if she was drugged. The prince was carrying her with the queen following behind." Menelaus's temper worsens even more. He brushed past his men roughly, yelling out orders as he prepares to see his brother in Mycenae.

* * *

"Turn us round. Back to Sparta," yells Hector at the captain of the ship. The man nods before obeying the prince's orders.

"High on the sail!" the captain orders.

"Wait, wait," Paris urges his brother.

"You fool!" Hector says, turning around to face his brother.

"Listen to me," Paris pleads.

"Do you know what you've done? Do you know how many years our father worked for peace?" Hector shoves Paris away as he speaks, his anger overtaking his body.

"I love her." Hector groans at his words.

"It's all a game to you, isn't it? You roam from town to town, bedding merchants' wives and temple maids. You think you know something about love. What about your father's love? You spat on him when you brought her on this ship! What about the love for your country? Why'd you bring her daughter along too? Menelaus will be even more angrier when he discovers his heir has been taken as well. You'd let Troy burn for these women?!" Hector turns, baring himself against the rail of the ship. He jaw clenches in anger. "I won't let you start a war for her, for them." Hector is disgusted at his brother's actions, his words showing his disappointment.

"May I speak?" Paris asks. Hector nods at his words, but his fury still lingers.

"What you're saying is true. I've wronged you. I've wronged our father. If you want to take Helen and Panthea back to Sparta, so be it. But I go with them." Paris is admitting his faults, but his voice turns desperate when he says he will go with Helen.

"To Sparta? They'll kill you," Hector speaks, exasperated by what Paris just said.

"Then I'll die fighting." Hector looks at Paris with an unbelieving look on his face.

"Oh, and that sounds heroic to you, doesn't it? To die fighting. Little brother, have you ever killed a man?" Hector's tone is grim as he speaks to Paris.

"No."

"Ever seen a man die in combat?"

"No." Paris just stands there as he is berated by his brother.

"I've killed men, and I've heard them dying. And I've watched them dying. And there's nothing glorious about it. Nothing poetic. You say you want to die for love. You know nothing about dying. And you know nothing about love!" Hector's face flushes with anger as he yells at Paris, his eyes looking up and down his brother in revulsion.

"All the same, I go with them. I won't ask you to fight my war," Paris says determined.

"You already have," Hector says, defeated. He turns to the captain, "To Troy!" Hector looks out to the sea, his thoughts taken over by what had just been revealed. He didn't know what he supposed to do, but until they returned to Troy, he was responsible for his brother's actions and would watch over the women of Sparta.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you liked the chapter. It's my longest one yet! Reviews are welcome.**


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.**

 **A/N: Finally, the story of the Trojan War begins! Welcome to my new followers/favs: FireElemental159, Sara Laguna, T. .tw, NightlyRowenTree, lovingvamp346, and Brookiecookie2002.**

 **Response to Ginger Spice: Thank you for reviewing! Updates are every two to three weeks. Hope you like this next chapter.**

 **Response to Guest: Yes, Panthea will definitely be angered by her mother's actions to the point she feels as if Helen isn't really her mother anymore. That's where Andromache will come in ;) I can't tell you that! That ruins the story lol but yes things will get complicated between her and both wonderful warriors, Achilles and Hector. Briseis will play a minor role, more like a test for Achilles. And of course, she (Panthea) will see Achilles! Thank you! Updates will be between every two and three weeks fyi.**

 **Ch. 8**

* * *

" _ **Fléctere si néqueo súperos Acheronta movebo –**_

 _ **If I cannot move heaven, I will raise hell."**_

― _**Virgil, The Aeneid**_

* * *

The Trojan ship sailed dangerously through the violent currents of the open water, a storm having picked up a few hours ago. The clouds had blotted out the light in the sky, making it pitch black. The ship was aggressively rocked back-and-forth as waves crashed against its side. The sails blew fiercely in the wind, the crews' voice being drowned out by the loud howl of the wind. The royals encased inside the vessel were in the same condition of the ship, bruised and battered as the ship tossed them from side-to-side.

The rampaging storm was direly affecting the Spartan princess below deck, as she tossed and turned in her temporary bed, a hanging hammock that did little to calm her sickness. The liquid Paris had given her as well as the on-going storm was affecting her stomach terribly and the pain within was excruciating. Helen sat with her daughter, pressing a cold cloth to her forehead. Panthea was hot to the touch, burning with fever and Helen stood over her devotedly as she tried to nurse her daughter back to health. Paris watched over the pair closely, Hector having gone up on deck to inspect the chaos above.

Panthea let out a soft moan as she held her stomach tighter, pulling her legs upwards so she lay in a fetal position. Her forehead creased in agony and her fingers tightened around the blanket that had been draped over her. Leaning over, the contents of her stomach were emptied into a barrel laid aside for her use. Helen held her daughter's hair up, a worried expression on her face as she watched her daughter in pain. Helen and Paris's eyes connected for a moment, Paris seeming just as concerned for Panthea's help as her mother was. He cared for Panthea as a sister, but she still scared the daylights out of him sometimes with those looks of hers.

Descending the ladder, Hector emerged from above, his dark curls damp with the rain as well as his rough beard. His dark eyes scanned the quarters, his face looking grim as he watched Panthea. She was still sick despite being at sea for several days. He glared at Paris, knowing the liquid substance he gave Panthea had not been properly brewed. Paris had probably gotten it somewhere in a dark alleyway from a questionable vendor, in haste to carry out what Helen asked of him.

Panthea let out another murmur of pain, catching Hector's attention once more. She looked so pale and delicate to him in that moment, the complete opposite of her natural rebellious spirit and strong nature. He neared towards mother and daughter, halting as he stood before them. Helen eyed him for a moment, not threateningly, but questionably. Holding out his hand, Hector rubbed his fingers against Panthea's cheek before pressing his palm to her forehead. He grimaced at the heat being emitted from her body.

At Hector's touch, Panthea's eyes opened. Hector remove his hand from her forehead upon seeing this. She looked around her surroundings for a moment before her senses were fully working. She saw Helen sitting beside her, a worried smile on her face as she realized Panthea was finally waking up. Shifting her eyes, she saw Paris sitting in corner, his figure coming to attention when he realized she was watching him. Moving her eyes again, they rested on Hector's features. He gave her a small smile, but she saw the look in his eyes. They were filled with concern, much like Achille's had been when she had injured her leg. The emotion bothered her a little, herself only being used to attention of men from her father or Achilles.

Panthea went to adjust her position in the hammock, but the pain in her stomach prevented her from doing so. She collapsed back in her temporary bed, breathing hard as she let out another sound of anguish. Helen tried to sooth her daughter with soft words, but Panthea's voice was raised even more as the pain overtook her body. Hot tears drifted down Panthea's face as she tried to push through, her breathing heavy as seconds passed by. Hector, having an idea, kneeled before the Spartan princess and moved her hands away from her stomach, replacing them with his own. She froze as he started rubbing circles on her stomach, but she relaxed as she accommodated herself to his touch. Helen let out a sigh of relieve. All Panthea had needed was the comfort of heat and a gentle hand, something Helen knew her daughter would reject from her. She raised herself from her position next to Panthea and went to sit with Paris, the two murmuring in soft tones as they embraced and relaxed for a moment as Hector took over.

Panthea had calmed down for the time being, her eyes drooping slowly as she tried to stay awake and watch Hector. The pain in her stomach had definitely subsided and she felt nothing but bliss as Hector rubbed the ache away. It was the first time in several days where she had not been knocked unconscious from the pain, but was slowly drifting asleep because of the heat entering her body. Her eyes fully closed as she focused on the movement of Hector's hand. Thinking she was asleep, the warrior tried to remove his hand and let her sleep peacefully. Her hand darted out like a snake striking and grabbed his wrist. The motion startled Hector as he looked once more at Panthea. Her eyes gazed up at him pleadingly and innocently.

"Please…" Panthea whispered silently, "don't leave me…. Don't leave me with them. Please stay here." Hector looked at her cautiously, his eyes darting between her and the couple behind them. She was entering dangerous territory that he vowed he would never cross. She didn't want to be left alone with them, probably angry, but she could do nothing about that in her current condition. His eyes faltered for a moment, as he stared at the deck beneath him. His eyes followed the patterns indented into the wood as his mind raced with thoughts of what he should do. Hector was an honorable, but Panthea was pushing him to the limits, much unlike his fragile and meek Andromache. His brain filled with images of her, but were soon clouded by visions of Panthea. He internally cursed the gods, thinking maybe they had something to do with this, with the situation that been forced upon him by his brother.

Panthea tugged on his wrist again, pulling his hand back to her stomach. She sighed in victory as he consented to her actions, his self-control giving up as he let his emotions take over.

"Will you lay with me?" Panthea questioned. She didn't really know what she was saying, just that she wanted the pain to stay away. He nodded his head slowly, knowing that she did not mean anything inappropriate, although it seemed that way. He removed his hand from her stomach before maneuvering over behind her. Paris and Helen looked at him questioningly as he raised his leg into the hammock.

Helen's eyes rose in confusion as he laid beside Panthea. She looked like she was going to protest before she saw him lay his hand once more on Panthea's stomach and saw him rubbing in circular motions. She halted, realizing Hector would not be doing what he was without reason. Her daughter was sick and Helen realized that under the circumstances, Panthea needed this. The pair then moved onto the other side of the cabin before lounging in their own hammock bed. The "rooms" weren't really that, but were separated by a divider of gold metal that was carved with flowers and vines, perfect for a royal chamber.

Hector laid there next to Panthea, the creaking of the deck above and the small splash of waves against the ship now the only noises heard. The storm had died down during the events that had just occurred and no one had bothered to notice the change. He continued rubbing Panthea's stomach as she drifted asleep, but he kept as still as possible and tried to keep as far away from Panthea as he would be allowed. The feat was impossible though due to the gentle rocking of the ship and the tight space of the hammock. Hector couldn't hold his position as it was uncomfortable and he sighed in defeat as his body pressed up against hers. He held in a groan as his body curved and pressed up against Panthea's. He tried to control himself, but because of the close proximity, Panthea was invading his senses and tearing at his defenses as quick as deadly poison. She filled him entirely with her presence and Hector could not resist. His arms wrapped around her body in a protective yet possessive way and his face was buried in her hair as he breathed in her scent. Panthea did not notice though, already lost in the land of dreams. Hector was slowly joining her, although he was fighting an internal war with himself. Those thoughts soon faded away and the two were left to sleep as the hummock rocked them along with the movements of the ship.

* * *

Several warships are anchored in the Mycenaean Harbor, the sun beating down the shining blue waters. Menelaus, followed by his advisors and a retinue of guards, climbs the long stone staircase that leads to the walled city of Mycenae, a citadel hewn from the hilltop rock. He is hastening towards the Mycenaean palace, his anger evident in his steps. Clothed in full armor, he looks like an image of death. As he approaches the palace doors, guards scramble to their feet and stand erect as he passes by them, embarrassed at being caught lounging in the sun.

Entering the palace, the men maneuver through several corridors before coming to the entrance of the throne room. Menelaus passes his helmet to one of his advisors before he and his followers enter. As the doors slam open, all eyes turn to him. Agamemnon sits in his golden throne at the head of the hall, the only man allowed to sit. Noblemen surround him, waiting for their king's response before they are dismissed nonchalantly. Treasures from various conquests fill the room, most of them statues or urns made from gold. Armed guards stand at their posts, saluting Menelaus as he walks towards his brother. The king's advisor, Nestor, stands next to Agamemnon as he stands and removes his crown form his head and passes it to a servant. Menelaus climbs the stairs to his brother's throne, the two men connecting eyes before embracing.

At last, Menelaus shows some emotion to what he has been through, a solemn expression appearing on his face. Agamemnon seems perturbed by his brother's actions, but there is a glint of satisfaction in his eye. "Your messenger came two days ago. I know what has happened," speaks Agamemnon. Menelaus's face turns red.

"I want her back. I want them back." Menelaus's face darkens even more.

"Of course, you do. She's a beautiful woman. And Panthea, she's your child. It's only natural. I would feel the same if it was Iphigenia or Electra," Agamemnon says understandingly.

"I want Helen back so I can kill her with my own two hands. And Panthea is my heir. She was taken unrightfully from her home, from me. She was drugged brother, taken against her will. I won't rest until I've burned Troy to the ground." Menelaus's face is dead serious. He wants nothing more than to see Helen and Paris killed before his eyes and to be reunited with his beloved daughter.

"I thought you wanted peace with Troy?" A small smile appears on Agamemnon's face as he questions his brother.

"I should have listened to you." Menelaus appears defeated in that moment

"Peace is for the women and the weak. Empires are forged by war." Agamemnon's words are full of strength, the idea of eternal glory enters his mind. He grasps his brother's shoulders tightly.

"All my life I've stood by your side, fought your enemies. You're the eldest, you reap the glory - this is the way of the world." Menelaus pauses for a moment. "But have I ever complained, brother? Have I ever asked you for anything?" A look of desperation is seen in his eyes.

"Never. You're a man of honor. Everyone in Greece knows this." Menelaus says this proudly.

"The Trojans spat on my honor, insulting me and you in the process. Will you go to war with me, brother?" Agamemnon reaches out his hand and Menelaus grasps it tightly before the brothers embrace again. Agamemnon has an expression of greed on his face as he thinks about the conquering of Troy. Another city would fall and another army would be his, or so he thought.

* * *

Agamemnon paces the vast expanse of his throne room. Lighted by torches, the shadows seem to creep across the wall eerily as if they were spirits of the night. Nestor stands behind a wooden table placed some feet away from the doors of the chamber. On the table before him, a goat skin lies in which a map of Greece is painted on it detailing the characteristics of each region such as mountains and water sources amongst other things. He is studying the map carefully as Agamemnon lazily walks around the room, watching him intently.

"I always thought my brother's wife was a foolish woman. But she's proven to be very useful." Agamemnon chuckles at his words. Women were fickle creatures. He himself was married to Helen's sister, though she would never dare to cause shame to him or the house of Atreus by doing something so sinful.

"The Trojans have never been conquered," Nestor says sternly. Agamemnon turns around to stare at his advisor, a look of disbelieve on his face that he would ever utter those words. He respected the man, but sometimes he spoke ahead of himself or at least that's what Agamemnon thought with his view of his authority over all Greek kings. "Some say they can't be conquered," continues Nestor.

Agamemnon stalks towards Nestor, fury evident in his loud footsteps. "Old King Priam thinks he's untouchable behind his high walls. He thinks the Sun God will protect him. But the gods only protect the strong." He slams down the fan like object he had been holding in his hand against the map on the table, trying to make his point. "If Troy falls, I control the Aegean." The king's greed was showing in his words and Nestor frowned.

"Hector commands the finest army in the east."

"I'll attack them with the greatest force the world has ever seen. I want all the kings of Greece and all their armies. Send emissaries in the morning." Agamemnon yells at Nestor as he gives out his commands, briskly walking away from the table and towards the doors of the throne room.

Nestor rolls his eyes as Agamemnon tried to depart, tired of his master's childish behavior. "One last thing. We need Achilles and his Myrmidons." Agamemnon shakes his head and pauses in his steps. Nestor turns to look at his king's reactions while Agamemnon shifts to talk to Nestor again.

"Achilles…." Agamemnon whispers, "He can't be controlled. He's as likely to fight us as the Trojans." He tries to make Nestor see reason. The last thing he wanted was the glory-hogging brigand to be there when he won Troy.

"We don't need to control him. We need to unleash him. The man was born to end lives." Nestor emphasized his last sentence.

"Yes, he's a gifted killer, but he threatens everything I've built. Before me Greece was nothing. I've brought all the Greek kingdoms together. I created a nation out of fire-worshippers and snake-eaters. I build the future, Nestor. Me. Achilles is the past, a man who fights for no flag, a man loyal to no country…." Agamemnon speaks with just a fury at the idea that he would have to deal with Achilles. Achilles was a nobody to him. He had built Greece to what it was that day.

Nestor interrupts Agamemnon before he can continue. "How many battles have we won off the edge of his sword? This will be the greatest war the world has ever seen. We need the greatest warrior." Agamemnon rolls his eyes before thinking about it.

Agamemnon at last concedes to Nestor. "There's only one man he'll listen to, Odysseus."

"I'll send a ship in the morning."

"Good." Agamemnon opens the door to the throne room, but before leaving, he syas one last thing to Nestor. "By the way, tell Achilles that is he fights for us then he can have our kidnapped princess. That'll get his attention. He's been watching her like lion stalks its prey." Nestor nods and the conversation is ended.

* * *

Achilles practices sword-fighting with Patroclus on the last remaining ruins of an abandoned temple. Ivy and moss cover the desiccating building, but it's grandeur is still evident. Both men wield wooden practice swords. Patroclus is still a youth, barely into manhood. His movements are strong, but not methodological like his cousin's. He wasn't experienced enough. In contrast, Achilles is the epitome of a true warrior. He wastes no energy and only strikes when he needs to. Patroclus presses in on the attack while Achilles has his wooden sword held above him in the air casually. Achilles meets his attack, leaning down as Patroclus swings at him and then lunges forward to strike Patroclus on the stomach. Patroclus guards himself. "Never hesitate," Achilles says. Patroclus grins and bursts forward to strike Achilles. He pushes himself off one of the walls of the ruins, and away from Achilles, who follows.

Horses can be heard galloping in the distance, kicking up dust in their wake. Odysseus had been notified by the emissaries and was in Pthia to inform Achilles of what had happened, mainly what had become of Panthea.

An intense duel continues to develop between the cousins. "Nervous?" Patroclus teases.

"Petrified," Achilles responds as he bares his wooden sword to Patroclus's throat. Achilles raises his right hand and Patroclus lifts his sword to parry the blow, but Achilles has changed sword hands.

"You told me never to switch sword hands," Patroclus says cheekily.

"Yes. When you know how to use it, you won't be taking my orders." Patroclus had just stumbled in his steps and Achilles kicks the sword out of his hand. Hearing the noise approaching, Achilles holds the wooden sword in one hand as his foot curls around the wood shaft of one of the spears lying on the ground next to the rest of his abandoned armor. He kicks the spear into the air impossibly fast and catches it before throwing it directly at the approaching men. The steel weapon flies through the temple walls and imbeds itself into the trunk of an oak tree.

Odysseus appears behind the tree, sitting on top of his black warhorse. He chuckles as he sees the spear a mere few inches away from his head. He dismounts from his horse and walks towards Achilles and Patroclus. He pulls out the spear from the tree and laughs again. "Your reputation for hospitality is fast becoming legend." Odysseus smiles and throws the spear back at Achilles who takes in his friend's demeanor.

Achilles discards the spar before pushing his young cousin forwards, the wooden sword pressed between his shoulder blades. He introduces the two men again. "Patroclus, my cousin. Odysseus, king of Ithaca."

"Patroclus." Odysseus grips Patroclus's shoulder. "I knew your parents well. I miss them." He flashes a brief smile in the boy's direction, thinking about old memories. "Now you have this one watching over you, eh? Learning from Achilles himself…Kings would kill for the honor." He stares at Achilles with respect as well as with a teasing look in his eyes.

"Are you here at Agamemnon's bidding?" Achilles question is concise and straight to the point. Odysseus hesitates, brushing his hand across the beard on his jaw as matters turn serious.

"We need to talk." The two men look at Patroclus before moving away to speak in private.

"I will not fight for him." Achilles shakes his head.

"I'm not asking you to fight for him. I'm asking you to fight for the Greeks." Odysseus tries to persuade Achilles, hoping he would not have to anger him in the process.

"Why? Are the Greeks tired of fighting each other?" Achilles chuckles at his words and Patroclus smiles as he listens in.

"For now."

"The Trojans never did anything to me." Odysseus shook his head. How wrong the great Achilles was in his quick opinion. He didn't know.

"They insulted Greece," Odysseus continues.

"They insulted one Greek, a man who couldn't hold on to his wife. What business is that of mine?" Achilles jokingly says.

"They didn't just take Helen, Achilles." Odysseus looks up at Achilles, feeling upset at the burden he now gave Achilles. "They took Panthea too. Drugged her so she wouldn't resist." Achilles face is a combination of many emotions: shock, anger, distress, and vengeance. His hands tighten and his muscles flex as he takes in what Odysseus has just said. Patroclus looks stunned as well, looking from his cousin to Odysseus, waiting for an explosion to happen. Achilles begins pacing, the wooden practice sword clenched tightly in his hand. He would not give Odysseus an answer. His face turned a dark red while his eyes darkened to the darkest of blacks it seemed. A beast of vengeance had emerged within him, taking over his very soul. His nostrils flared and his lips tightened into a thin line.

Odysseus continued to try and urge his friend to join. He could see the clock spiels of his brain working in his head, figuring out how he could get Panthea without fighting for Agamemnon. "Your business is war, my friend. Forget Agamemnon. Fight for me. My wife will feel much better if she knows you're by my side. I'll feel much better. And Panthea, fight for her too. We're sending the largest fleet that ever sailed… a thousand ships." Achilles still hesitated, he was stuck between choosing his honor or fighting for Agamemnon to win Panthea back. Each situation was a loss for him.

"Prince Hector, is he as good a warrior as they say?" Patroclus asks, trying to take the tension away. However, Odysseus still added to it.

"The best of all the Trojans. Some say he's better than all the Greeks, too. Some say he's the one who took Panthea. It seems both brothers have a skill at taking other men's women." Odysseus paused as Achilles head darted up. "Even if your cousin doesn't come, I hope you'll join us, Patroclus. We could use a strong arm like yours."

Achilles pointed the practice sword at Odysseus threateningly. It may be made of wood, but Achilles could still kill the man. "Play your tricks on me, but not my cousin."

"You have your sword, I have my tricks. We play with the toys the gods give us." Odysseus begins to depart, heading towards his horse and men waiting for him away from the trio. "We sail for Troy in three days, from Aulis. This war will never be forgotten. Nor will the heroes who fight in it." Odysseus pointedly looked at Achilles, signaling how important the war would be for him.

"I'll be there." Achilles replies tersely as Odysseus leaves. His decision had been made.

* * *

A warship rows along the coast of Pthia as Achilles makes his away across the jagged rocks and sand. He spies a woman wading along the shoreline, his mother Thetis. Her long chestnut hair is streaked with grey, but that does not take away from the woman's ageless beauty. Her eyes are the color of the sea after a storm and her voice still holds a melodious tune. She wears a simple blue peplos decorated with a swirling design. Bending town, she reached for a beautiful shell in the water. As Achilles approaches, she begins to speak. "I knew they would come for you. Long before you were born, I knew they would come. They want you to fight, in Troy." A somber expression appears on both their faces, Achilles worried for his mother while Thetis worried for her child's future.

Thetis surveys the water for some more shells. "I'm making you another seashell necklace, like the ones you used to wear as a boy. Do you remember?" She smiles at the memory.

"Mother, I've decided." Thetis looks up and nods at her son. She begins to give him his prophecy as she glances over the shells in her hand.

"If you stay here, with me, you'll find peace. You'll find a wonderful woman, you'll have sons and daughters, and they will have children. And they will love you. When you're gone, they'll remember you. But when your children are dead, and their children after them, your name will be lost." Her eyes are clear and unwavering she locks eyes with him. She speaks these lines as if they had been rehearsed for ages and with no hesitation. She continues her speech. "If you go to Troy, glory will be yours. They will write stories about your victories for thousands of years. The world will remember your name." Achilles stares at her, his eyes burning with visions of his victories and men shouting his name. He's wanted to hear these words from his mother for so long. "You want to go, to retrieve the woman you have lost. She is a good woman as well, but you will endure many trials for her and she will for you, for her mother, for herself." Achilles nods, understanding his mother's words. He wanted Panthea more than anything and would stop at nothing to have her in his arms again, especially if he had to rip Hector's arms off before he did so. He would gladly kill the man who supposedly took his little warrior.

"But if you go to Troy, you'll never come home. For your glory walks hand-in-hand with your doom. And I shall never see you again." Tears shined in Thetis's eyes as she revealed his fate. She strokes his face, trying to imprint the image of his face in her mind. Achilles stares out into the distance, at the clear waters of the sea and fixates his eyes on the horizon. His fate was waiting for him. All he had to do was grasp it in his hands.

* * *

Achilles stood amid his men, surrounded by the other hundreds of ships who were traveling to Troy for the same purpose, the greed of Agamemnon. This was the second time they had taken off from Aulis, the 1st time having sailed not to Troy, but the kingdom of Mysis. This country was led by Telephus, son of Heracles, who engaged in battle with Achilles when the Achaeans had landed. The Greeks then departed once realizing they had arrived at the wrong country and returned to Aulis quite dispirited and angry with Agamemnon for not knowing the route to Troy.

Calchas, a prophet of Agamemnon, had foretold that Artemis was angry with Agamemnon for killing her sacred deer on Aulis and the reason for their delay. He proposed that only way to solve this problem and to get on with the war with the Trojans was to sacrifice Agamemnon's daughter, Iphigenia. Agamemnon refused at first, horrified that he would have kill his own flesh and blood, but he relented in the ends when the Greeks threatened to leave Aulis. The girl was called to Aulis with her mother Clytemnestra, told that she was to be married to Achilles and not that she would be a sacrifice to the gods. When she arrived, Clytemnestra went straight to Achilles and congratulated him on his match with her daughter, but Achilles had no clue what Agamemnon was conspiring and denied what she said. The two then learned of the plot, Achilles furious beyond belief that he had been used in something so devious. The sacrifice of a woman was disgusting to him and he pledged on his honor that he would try to prevent Iphigenia's sacrifice. However, Iphigenia gradually consented as she believed it was the will of the gods and Achilles could do nothing to prevent her death.

Achilles shuddered at the image of Iphigenia's lifeless body, the tarnished look in her eyes that signified death. Her throat had been severed open, her blood dripping onto the altar to appease the gods. Clytemnestra wildly pulled at her hair, her loud wails heard by all as she lamented her daughter's death and cursed her husband to the underworld. Achilles agreed with the Queen of Mycenae, Agamemnon would go to hell if it was the last thing he would do. Iphigenia had after all, been Panthea's favorite cousin and he only imagined how she would feel after hearing of her cousin's untimely demise.

Looking out onto the horizon, Achilles visualized what it would be like to have Panthea back in his arms again. He let out a sigh, wishing the fantasy would come true sooner. The Greeks had a long journey ahead of them and since the winds were in their favor, supposedly because of Iphigenia's sacrifice and Artemis's forgiveness, the Achaeans would see the beaches of Troy and not some other foreign kingdom Agamemnon could conquer and add to his empire. War was all Achilles lived for, but now he had something else far more important in his life: love.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey guys! Hope you liked this chapter. Had to have some storyline and a little bit of Hector/Panthea interaction. Achilles POV was also essentially important to this chapter. In the next one we will see the Trojans returning to Troy and more of Panthea's anger towards her mother and Paris. Andromache and Priam will appear and finally see the Spartan princess. Next chapter is more of a filler as we see the events of Panthea's life at Troy. The war will begin either at the end or the chapter after that. Please review!**


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.**

 **A/N: Our Spartan women have finally come to Troy and meet the rest of Trojan royalty while the Greeks are approaching. Welcome to my new favs/followers: delphine83, Wolfy-Queen, poukie-scrapbook, and Twilight Dark Angel. Thank you, guys, so much for your support! Sorry for the late update. Just got done with midterms.**

 **Responses to reviewers (guests): Please but a name so I can address all guests individually. I'm not sure what reviews belonged to what guest so please clarify so I can respond.**

 **Response to Ginger Spice: Thank you for reviewing. Lots of drama will be happening this chapter!**

 **Response to Guest: Yes, she is attracted to Hector, but still retains her loyalty Achilles. This will be a challenge in later chapters. Briseis will be involved, but not like in the movies. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Response to guest (bless you): lol loved the name you put. Thank you so much. Detail is very important to me!**

 **Response to guest (Percilla): Thank you. Glad you like it!**

 **Response to guest: I received three reviews from you and I cannot express how happy I am that you have taken such an interest in my story. Loved your responses. Definitely motivated me. Achilles still does need to mature like you said and that is why Panthea is attracted to Hector. They are complete opposites so hence her dilemma. And yes, Paris only cares for himself, ultimately making an enemy out of Panthea. Thank you for reviewing!**

 **Response to guest (guest 1): Sorry, can't give away the ending. Briseis will definitely be a temptation to Achilles. And yes, I totally agree about Hector and Achille's attitudes. Achilles is definitely like a spell love where Hector's appears more genuine. Thank you for reviewing! No problem, love to write.**

* * *

 **Ch. 9**

" _ **Do the gods light this fire in our hearts or does each man's mad desire become his god?"**_

 _ **~ Virgil, The Aeneid**_

* * *

Panthea looked out on the dark blue waters of the open sea, her eyes unwavering as she watched each wave rise and fall. Her hands clutched the railing of the ship lightly as she balanced herself against the movement of the vessel. The wind blew gently through her white-blond hair, fluttering for a moment before dying down and then picking back up. The breeze was enough to keep the direct rays of the sun from warming the occupants of the ship too much, but the glare still blinded many. It was peaceful, much more relaxed compared to the past few days Panthea had been through. Her stomach still bothered her, but was not violently torturing her as it had been.

Hector stood next to the Spartan princess, keeping vigilance as she took her first breaths of fresh air out on the desk after being stuck inside the close confines of the cabin below. He watched her, scanning her face for any signs of pain. For the past days, he had been caring for her, rubbing her stomach to keep the pain down. His large palm had traced the muscles of her stomach several hundred times and now it was almost routine to him to wrap his arms around her center and pull her close. They were both used to the contact, something that would end once they reached Troy.

Panthea let out raspy gasp as she suddenly leaned over the railing of the ship, coughing up bile that had made its way up her throat. Hector was behind her immediately, rubbing her back soothingly and speaking to her in hushed tones. Pulling her hair back from her face, he waited for her to stand upright again. Panthea breathed deeply and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before leaning back into Hector, closing her eyes as he began to rub her stomach again.

"Does it hurt?" Hector questioned, referring to her sensitive stomach. He tensed as her head leaned into the crook of his neck and her cheek touched the bare skin of his upper chest as she adjusted in his arms. He could smell her delicious scent and inhaled deeply.

Panthea's pale face regained color before she spoke. "A little," she said quietly as she turned to face Hector. He removed his hand from her stomach as she turned, his hands grasping her hips lightly. Panthea placed her hands on her middle as she cast her gaze to the patterns of the wooden deck. She had no idea what she was doing to Hector as he cast his darkened gaze on her figure. He tried to remove his thoughts from his head, cursing himself for the inappropriate images floating through his mind. He could only groan at the idea of Panthea beneath him, staring up at him with trust in her eyes as he took her.

Panthea lifted her blue eyes to meet Hector's dark ones, her forehead creasing when she noticed he was now looking over her shoulder at the sea with an almost angry expression. "Is something wrong my lord?" she asked respectfully, an edge of worry in her voice. Hector's lips formed a thin line at her words, but he said nothing as his eyes connected with hers. Instead he searched her eyes for an answer to his question. Why had she been in her sister's prophecy? Was she really who he thought she was? What was her purpose? What did she mean to him? He frowned at her formal tone, not liking how she was addressing him.

"No. All is well Panthea." Hector removed his hands hastily from her hips before sitting down on one of the barrels on deck. He let out a frustrated sigh as he sat, getting tired of this game the gods had thrust upon him. Panthea watched him warily before shrugging her shoulders and plopping down in his lap unceremoniously. Hector was taken aback by the gesture, his eyes widening in surprise as he felt her body weight on his lap. It took him a moment to get accustomed to her weight before feeling comfortable. Panthea smiled at him brightly when she saw his temper had disappeared and she gave out a little giggle at his change of attitude.

Hector couldn't help, but feel as if a weight had been lifted off his chest as he gazed at the sight before him. Panthea was giving him the best gift of all: her smile. She was a vision with her hair surrounding her head like a halo and her eyes only focused on him. Sitting on his lap, Panthea again looked out on the blue waters, not paying any attention to Hector as she stared at the never-ending waves approaching the ship. Her hands regained their former position on the railing and she laid her chin against it as well, humming to herself. Hector was confused on what to do, his hands held awkwardly in front of him. He eventually gave up and placed one hand on his thigh while the other placed itself lightly on the middle of Panthea's back. The gesture was neither forward of him nor just a simple motion. It lay on the boundary between familiarity and wanting more.

Hector was mesmerized, everyone on deck could see that. Some of the sailors even chuckled at the prince's behavior, never having seen him so perplexed at a girl's behavior. However, all knew that would change once they reached Troy, when Hector would throw himself back into the duties of the crown prince.

* * *

The Trojan vessel had finally reached Troy after a few weeks at sea. Hector exhaled a breath of relief as he looked on his homeland, a great smile apparent on his face that he would be reunited with his wife and child. He internally cringed though, eyeing Panthea out of the corner of his eye. She was still weak from her illness as well as the trip overseas, her body leaning against the side of the ship for support and her face a little paler than normal. She still refused to talk to Helen and when Paris attempted to make conversation, her sharp gaze shut him up. Hector was worried how she would adjust in Troy and if she would still act the same with him as she had been. It was much too informal for them to carry on in the way they had, but Hector had a small sliver of hope in his heart that she would disregard the formalities of court life.

Heading towards Panthea, Hector came up behind her and rested his hands gently on her waist. Panthea wasn't started like he thought she would have been. She had looked so absorbed in her own world that Hector had thought she might have been too busy to notice his approach. Instead, Panthea looked up at him with apprehension at what was about to happen. She looked like a frightened little dove the way her eyes searched his for comfort. Wrapping her arms around his body tightly, her hands grasped the fabric on his back as she pressed her face against the hot contours of his chest. Tears sprung to her eyes and fell onto Hector's bare skin.

Hector wrapped his arms around the Spartan princess, pulling her flush against his chest. He whispered in hushed tones to her, saying that everything would be alright and that he would watch over her. He tried to tell her how Andromache would be there as well, how she would welcome her with open arms, but it did little to halt Panthea's tears. She only wept harder and buried herself further into Hector's embrace.

"I want to go home," Panthea spoke woefully through her tears.

Hector tensed at her words, his body becoming rigid. He had expected her to say something like that, her being blunt and all when speaking, but he didn't want to admit it to himself. "I know little one," he spoke softly in her ear. He held her for a few more minutes, waiting for the crying to stop and for Panthea to calm down again. She roughly wiped her eyes, now red from crying, and pulled away from Hector's arms as she squinted up at him.

"You should probably go and put your formal attire on my lord," Panthea said. Hector frowned at her formal tone again, knowing she was only trying to close herself back up again. Not having it in his heart to scold her, he nodded and departed below deck, leaving Panthea to her own devices while he changed. Discarding his blue chiton, he noticed Paris changing as well, Helen nowhere to be seen. The brothers both donned their armor, their formal garments used for important occasions such as this one.

"You know this changes everything." Hector's eyes darted angrily to his brother. Paris hadn't spoken to him in days, hesitant that Hector would lash out at him again. His temper had been short since Paris had brought the Spartan women with them and Hector still did not forgive him.

"Really Paris? I didn't know." Hector's tone was sarcastic as he spoke to his younger brother. Adjusting the straps on his ornamental armor, Hector went to leave the cabin, not in the mood for talking to Paris. He had more important matters to worry about. However, Paris roughly grabbed his elder brother by the arm before he could go back on deck.

"I see the way you look at her, at Panthea." Hector froze in his steps, glaring heatedly at his brother. Paris had the audacity to not back down, holding his ground as he stared at his brother with a meaningful look. "You care for her. Admit it. And you want her, just as father predicted you would." Hector gritted his teeth at Paris, yanking his arm from his hold and brushing past him to climb the ladder that led to the deck. He was furious, rage pooling in his veins. Paris had obviously been eavesdropping again, another unprincely trait his brother possessed.

Halfway up the ladder, Hector turned around abruptly to address Paris. "If you ever say anything like that to my face again, I will not hesitate to rip your arm out of its socket. Father's and my conversations are none of your business and my situation is the complete opposite of yours. I didn't steal someone's wife." Paris looked at him, ashamed. Hector had put him back in his place, as he should have. Hector then ascended up the latter and back onto deck.

The ship was almost to shore now and Hector could see the fishermen and dock boys at their stations, going about their everyday business. They had no idea what the Trojan princes had brought back with them. Hector sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose and preparing himself mentally for the introduction of the Spartan women to the Trojan people, the court, and most important of all, his father and wife.

Once the shipped docked at port, a bridge was laid between the dock and the exit of the ship. Paris escorted Helen off first, gently holding her waist as she exited the ship. Panthea followed, although she was some distance behind the couple and made sure Hector was not far along. An impressive escort had been arranged for the Trojans' return, almost as if they were celebrating some grand holiday or a festival for the gods. The Apollonian guard and footmen were present as well as servants to walk diligently beside their masters while holding parasols and such to keep the sun out of people's eyes. A grand chariot had been brought for Paris and Helen to use and was situated at the head of the parade. Hector rolled his eyes knowing Paris would be gloating with all the glory bestowed upon him as he was leading the procession to meet Priam and his court.

Hector's favorite stallion had been tacked and made ready for him instead of a chariot. He mounted gracefully for a man of his being and situated himself in the saddle before spotting Panthea looking slightly uncomfortable as Helen urged her to step into the chariot with her and Paris. Panthea shook her head, showing her refusal, but Helen persisted. Panthea was her daughter after all and she was trying to reform their maternal bond. Hector ended the discussion immediately, guiding his horse between Helen and Panthea, and scooping Panthea up into his arms. Hector placed Panthea in front of him in the saddle as she held on to him like a child, her face nuzzling the crook of his neck and her arms around his waist. His face was passive to all and Helen frowned at his intervention when she saw Panthea smiling from her position in his lap. First it was Achilles and now Hector. As a mother, Helen could only take so much men paying attention to her daughter.

The company then started making their way towards the city walls along the sandy beach, Panthea timid as she watched the gates of Troy open. She didn't want to be there, she wanted to be home. But, she could do nothing about her current situation. Priam would decide what to do with her now. Distracting her from her thoughts, Panthea stared at the ground as Hector's horse kicked up sand. It was boring to watch, but it took her mind off things. Hector chuckled at her behavior, making Panthea stick her tongue out at him in a childish manner.

The group then made their way under the arch leading into Troy, the magnificence of the city being revealed. The white-wash walls of the city, golden temples, and great statues were just a few of the many outstanding qualities of the grand city. Panthea took it all in with an awe-struck expression in her eyes as she practically bounced in her seat, Hector looking on in amusement. She had only been to her uncle's domains until now and Troy was a new adventure for her.

Thousands of onlookers lined the road, cheering for their princes' return. Many threw flower petals into the street, making a makeshift pathway for the royals. Some stood off to the side, dancing amongst themselves joyfully as musicians played a pleasant tune. Other Trojans stood on the roofs or balconies of their homes, waving excited to the retuning Trojan royals and guards.

Paris stood proudly in the chariot next to his lover, smiling brightly to his people. A soldier walked behind them, holding an umbrella above their heads to keep the sun away. Helen was a vision in white as she stood next to Paris, her peplos decorated with a golden pattern. A golden laurel had been placed in her hair and the pearl necklace Paris had given her was on her neck. Hector followed behind the pair on his stallion, Panthea placed in front of him in the saddle as he waved to his people. Panthea had chosen a light blue color for her peplos and unlike her mother, she only wore the necklace that she had been kidnapped in. It was the one Menelaus had given her as a present for her upcoming birthday, pearls with a large diamond placed in the middle of the arrangement.

Nearing the palace of Troy, Helen became uneasy as more and more women continued to point at her. Some were merely curious, others were spiteful, making clear their distaste of the Spartan woman. She lowered her eyes shamefully and tried to ignore them. Paris noticed her discomfort and grasped her hand in his, giving her a small smile to calm her fears. Panthea just stared at all the women defiantly, knowing they were probably thinking of her in the same way as they were her mother. They all turned away, unnerved by the Spartan princess's cold stare.

The entourage finally made their way to the palace steps. Members of the Apollonian guard awaited their arrival on perfectly groomed chestnut stallions and saluted the princes respectfully. Paris helped Helen exit the chariot and they began their ascent up the palace steps, several servants following behind. Hector dismounted his steed effortlessly before helping Panthea down, gently holding her body as he placed her down on the ground. Panthea stumbled for a moment before regaining her balance. Her face looked pale and she appeared unsure of herself, making Hector halt for a moment. His eyes scanned her body and face worriedly before looking up to the palace. He was ready to be reunited with his family.

Seeing the anxious expression on his face, Panthea masked her emotions and gave Hector a small smile of reassurance. "I'm alright my lord. You should go see your family." Hector immediately returned his attention back to Panthea, a questioning look in his eyes. "I'll be right behind you. I just…," she hesitated for a moment, "I need a moment." Hector nodded in understanding, gesturing for his head Apollonian guard Tecton to remain behind with her. He then made his way up the palace steps and to the awaiting Trojan court.

"My son," Priam bellows excitedly as he embraces Hector. Hecuba and Cassandra stand by the monarch's side as well as his other children. The courtiers and advisors stand behind, watching the joyous reunion.

"Father," Hector answers just as happily. He steps aside to make room for Paris who stands behind him nervously, waiting for his father's scolding. Instead Priam gives him a knowing expression, neither one of anger nor one of elation. Priam merely looked at Paris with his eyes of wisdom that seemed to understand Paris's situation. "Paris," he speaks, holding his hands outward to embrace his other son. He kisses each of Paris's perfect cheeks gently before holding his face gently in the palms of his hand, a fatherly gesture to all.

"Father," Paris speaks, gesturing to the quiet woman behind him. Helen stood there with her hands clasped gently in front of her, her eyes cast downward demurely. "This is Helen," Paris continues, reaching out for Helen. She took his hand in hers as she was formally presented to the king of Troy. She bows to him, paying her respects.

"Helen? Helen of Sparta?" Priam questions, making Helen embarrassed as she casts her gaze downwards again. He looks to Paris for an answer, testing him.

"Helen of Troy," Paris announces proudly, taking account for his actions. Priam only nods at his son's words, not showing any emotion at his son's revelation.

Priam turns his full attention to Helen now, making her shake in anticipation. "I've heard rumors of your beauty." His voice is gentle as he addresses the Spartan woman. He pulls her forward, embracing her as he did his sons. "For once, the gossips were right," he continues. Helen smiles at his words, now feeling welcome and gratified to the great king. "You are welcome here Helen."

An eagle suddenly appears out of the sky, flying expertly through the vast blue domain. He lands on one of the many decorative pillars in front of the palace and lets out a loud screech, attracting Priam's attention. As a superstitious man, he was very curious as to why the symbol of Zeus would appear so blatantly in broad daylight. An owl, a symbol of Athena, also reveals itself, hooting as it lands on the second pillar in the courtyard. Priam stands there, astonished at such an occurrence.

It is then that Panthea shows herself, escorted by Tecton as she climbs up the palace steps. All eyes are on her as the Trojan court takes in her unique appearance. Several people chuckled at her late arrival, not knowing who the young girl was. Panthea ignored them, walking straight ahead with her head held high, eyes locked on Priam. She stops in the middle of the courtyard, now noticing the two magnificent birds that were present. The owl hoots at her, turning its head ever so slightly, while the eagle again screeches. Panthea is frozen in place, remembering the dream she had the night before. The gods were comforting her, saying how they would be there to guide her in her time of need and would reveal themselves to her. She realized it was them and she gasped as she turned to fully face them. Of course, only she knew the truth.

Panthea stands there for a moment, breathing deeply as she analyzes both birds. The eagle was golden in color, a true bird of prey with its intense gaze and sharp talons. The snowy-white owl seemed to emit wisdom as it hooted at her with its big blue eyes, blinking at her rapidly. Both were studying her as well, taking in their great champion. The birds were merely disguises for the great gods beneath.

Both birds then take off from their perches, the owl flying off into the distance while the eagle circles Panthea overhead. It swoops down, landing perfectly on her shoulder. Panthea doesn't move, waiting for the eagle's move. It nuzzles against her cheek almost lovingly, dropping a laurel tree branch into her hands. Panthea hadn't noticed it before, but the eagle had held it in its talons the entire time. Seeing the so-called package had been delivered, the eagle then takes off, not a mark left on Panthea. She turns to watch as it flies away before looking at the Trojan court in front of her.

Panthea blushes when she notices everyone is staring at her with awestruck expressions. Helen has her hands covering her mouth in shock while Paris's mouth hangs open unattractively. Hector has a serious look in his dark depths as he watches his father for a reaction, knowing what he had just witnessed could not be cast aside so easily. Priam descends the palace steps hastily and Panthea kneels immediately when she sees the oncoming king. Priam does not pay attention to her formalities and motions for Panthea to stand up. He takes both of his hands and places them on her red cheeks.

"You are most welcome here my child," Priam says in a fatherly tone as he kisses Panthea affectionately, making her want to cry. Panthea chokes up for a moment, a stray tear falling down her face. She missed her father desperately, especially the way he would hold her face in his hands and kiss her just as Priam had done.

"Thank you my lord." Panthea's voice is barely above a whisper as she speaks. Priam only smiles at the homesick princess, completely understanding of how she was feeling. He holds his arm out to her, guiding her into the grand palace. His courtiers clap at their king's hospitable behavior, making Panthea blush even more under the scrutiny of others. Hector's body language is tense as he watches her, his dark gaze never faltering from her form. His trance is broken once the clapping stops and he begins to look for his dear Andromache.

Hector spots Andromache standing to the side of the crowd, his pale skin and dark eyed beauty clad in a light blue chiton with a golden wrap. Her hair was styled in the customary way and she was bejeweled as fit her station as the crown heir's wife. He makes his way towards Andromache and embraces her lovingly before placing a passionate kiss on her lips. Andromache pulls away breathlessly as their foreheads lean together and Hector wraps his arms tightly around her body.

Andromache pulls away and gestures behind her where a nurse is holding their son. "Look," she says excitedly. She takes Astyanax from the nurse, his little body covered in layers of white cloth. She pulls back the thick material by his face and Astyanax coos at the sight of his father. His blue eyes connect with his father's dark brown ones as he kicks his legs up enthusiastically.

"He's grown," Hector speaks proudly, gazing on Astyanax's figure. He had missed so much in the past few months, and now that he was home, he hoped nothing would tear him from it.

"He's strong," Andromache replies in the same vigor as her husband.

"Lord Hector," a small voice says behind the couple. Hector turns around to see his father had left Panthea on her own in the crowd of Trojan nobles. She looked so lost in the sea of chaos that was occurring around her and her innocent eyes bore into his. Andromache gave a small smile to the Spartan Princess and looked to Hector for his answer. Instead she was taken aback by the look he had in his almost black abysses. They were filled with hunger, such animalistic hunger that it frightened Andromache. She wasn't scared for herself, but for the girl that stood before them, looking so naïve and ignorant of Hector's expression. She knew of Priam's plans to marry Hector to this girl. Instead of being a jealous wife, she welcomed the idea as Astyanax could possibly have more siblings. However, looking at Hector now, she was overcome with so many emotions. It scared her. Hector only looked at her with love, but seeing him now, he appeared to be overcome with lust for Panthea.

"Is this your son?" Panthea said, oblivious to the behavior of both Hector and Andromache. She smiled at Astyanax in Andromache's arms and giggled when he started speaking baby gibberish to her. "Can I hold him?" she questioned Andromache, who then passed her son to Panthea with a blank expression. She did not mind that Panthea wanted to hold her son, but she was disturbed by Hector's intense stare. Panthea looked down at Astyanax with pure adoration and lifted a finger up for him to grasp in his tiny palm. "He has a very strong grip your grace," she spoke, delighted at the baby's actions. Andromache merely nodded, still staring at her husband.

"Briseis," Paris speaks enthusiastically. A young woman of 18 years old appears from a side staircase, clothed in the robes of a priestess. She has a vain type of attitude as she eyes the two Spartan women and her walk indicates her aristocratic status. She flounces down the stairs towards the younger Trojan Prince.

"Paris!" Briseis exclaims with the same eagerness. Hector is snapped out of his stupor when Briseis speaks and he turns his attention to her, kissing Andromache's cheek gently and sparing one last look at Panthea before heading towards his brother and cousin.

"Is something wrong your grace?" Panthea questions Andromache, concerned with the pallor of her face and silence.

"Of course, little one," Andromache responds, forgetting her troubles for the moment and returning to her cheerful demeanor. "Come, you must be tired. How about we go and rest until the feast tonight? Let me get your mother." Panthea shakes her head profusely, confusing Andromache.

"Please. I don't want to be with her right now. I'd rather be with you." Andromache nods at Panthea's words, worried with Panthea's desperate tone. Apparently, there was some conflict between mother and daughter that could not be resolved. Andromache couldn't blame her though. She would feel the same if her mother had dragged her across seas just to have an affair with a foreign prince. The two royals depart, Astyanax still in Panthea's arms and servants following the pair. Both women are now occupied with Astyanax and their fears are forgotten.

"Beloved cousin, your beauty grows with each new moon." Paris kisses each of Briseis' cheeks before turning to make sure Helen is in good hands. She flutters her long lashes at him, reassuring him and Paris returns his attention to his cousin.

Hector approaches the pair and kisses Briseis as well. "Briseis," he says in a gruff voice. "A servant of Apollo now?" he questions, shocked with her decision. Cassandra had been a servant of Apollo and the gods only knew how that had turned out for her.

Priam then enters the conversation. "The young men of Troy were devastated when Briseis chose the virgin robes." Briseis blushes at his words and Priam leans forward to press a kiss to his niece's forehead.

* * *

"I know this is the last thing we need." Hector and Priam now reside in the meeting hall a few days after arriving in Troy. Statues of Olympian gods line the high-ceiling room and torches burn brightly in the hall, shedding light on the throne at the head of the room. The two stand near an archway looking over the whole city. It is market day, the busiest day of the week, and everyone is up and about. The fish mongers are selling their catches of the day, seamstresses yell out what new clothes they have made, and others boast about their wares. How Hector wished to be them, a common person rather than the heir of Troy.

"It is the will of the gods. Everything is in their hands." Priam is wise in his words, remembering the display he saw with the eagle and Panthea yesterday. He hesitates before continuing, "But, I'm surprised you let him bring her. I'm surprised you brought both of them."

"If I'd let him fight Menelaus for them, you'd be burning a son's body instead of welcoming a daughter, and perhaps a granddaughter." Hector tries to reason with his father.

Priam thinks for a moment before speaking. "We could send peace envoys to Menelaus."

"You know Menelaus," Hector says, exasperated. "He'd spear your envoys' heads to his gate."

"What would you have me do?" Priam sends Hector an unsettling look.

"Put them on a ship and send them home." Hector's voice sounds determined and final. Priam considers his son's words before looking out on his country.

"Women have always loved Paris and he's loved them back. But this is different. Something has changed in him. If we send her back to Menelaus, he'll follow." Priam's countenance is sorrowful as he thinks about what his younger son's fate could be. He wants peace with the Greeks, but he knows his son has changed for the better. He walks out onto the balcony overlooking his city and Hector joins him.

"This is my country. These are my countrymen. I don't want to see them suffer so my brother can have his prize." Hector's love is evident in the desperation of his voice. He wants nothing more than to protect his people and to protect his family.

"And what of your prize, my son?" The comment strikes home with Hector and his dark orbs dart to his father's figure with anger. He ignores the side comment and continues with what they were originally discussing.

"It's not just the Spartans coming after them. By now Menelaus has gone to Agamemnon, and Agamemnon has wanted to destroy us for years."

"Enemies have been attacking us for centuries. Our walls still stand." Priam belives in his city's invinicibility. Others would be cursed for their pride, but not the great Priam.

"Father, we can't win this war." Hector sounds defeated, an emotion that the Prince of Troy had never felt before.

"Apollo watches over us. Even Agamemnon is no match for the gods." Hector rolls his eyes and sighs at his father's words. Priam puts so much faith into superstition that he is blinded by his own pride.

"And how many battalions does the Sun God command?" Sarcasm is laced in Hector's voice.

"Do not mock the gods." Priam reprimands his son, a serious look on his face. Hector bows his head, not having it in his heart to argue. He holds his tongue.

"When you were very young you came down with scarlet fever." Hector nods impatiently, having heard this story many times before. He only wants his father to see reason. "Your little hands were so hot. The healer said you wouldn't last the night. I went down to Apollo's temple and I prayed until the sun came up. That walk back to the palace was the longest of my life. But I went into your mother's room and you were sleeping in her arms. The fever had broken." He pauses, reminiscing the moment. "Your mother and I promised that day to dedicate our lives to the gods. I will not break my promise." He was resolute in his decision. Hector could see there was no dissuading him now. "For thirty years, I've worked for peace. Thirty years." He emphasizes the word to Hector. "Paris is a fool sometimes. I know that. But I'll fight a thousand wars before letting him die." His face looks fierce as he finally spits out his decision.

A solemn expression is on Hector's face as he speaks. "Forgive me, father. But you won't be the one fighting." Hector bows to his father and leaves the old king alone in the great hall. Walking through the corridor, he hears a commotion coming from one of the courtyards and makes his way towards the noise. He spots a crowd in the courtyard surrounding Paris as he spars with one of their younger brothers, Polydorus. The lad was about 12 years old, so he had no hope of winning. Hector smiled at his effort though, knowing that Polydorus only wanted to please their father.

Andromache sat on a bench to the side, observing the match. Panthea lay next to her with her head in Andromache's lap, baby Astyanax in her lap. The two were getting along quite well and Andromache doted on Panthea as if she were a younger sister. Helen sat on another bench, looking miserable as she watched her daughter across the courtyard. Panthea was hostile to her, wanting nothing to do with her. Every time Helen tried to speak to her daughter, Panthea would walk away or pretend like she had never even heard her. It was affecting the young princess though. She barely ate anything and when she did, it was at the urging of Andromache.

A loud cheer arose as Hector came to stand beside his wife, greeting her with a kiss and patting his son on the head. Paris had just knocked Polydorus off his feet and he lay in the dirt defeated. Polydorus frowned up at his older brother as Paris bragged about his victory. He brushed himself off and headed towards Panthea who smiled brightly at him.

"It's alright little sparrow. You'll grow and be the greatest warrior the world has ever seen." Polydorus blushed at Panthea's words, a big grin appearing on his face. He favored Panthea, probably because she didn't treat him like a baby as his mother did. Across the courtyard, Hecuba stood talking with Priam, Cassandra silent beside them. She watched her son conversing with Panthea before returning to the discussion with her husband. Cassandra stared at them, a strange look in her eyes. She rarely spoke, but since Panthea's arrival, she came out of her rooms more and spent time with the Trojan Princess. The two were becoming fast friends and Hector was very grateful for that.

Paris continued being an egotistical prince, asking if anyone else would spar with him. No one answered, but continued joking around with each other, that is until Panthea rose to the challenge. It was unexpected. One minute she sat playing with Astyanax, and the next she was accepting the challenge with a wicked look in her eyes. The court started laughing, thinking it humorous that a princess of Sparta wanted to fight, that is until she ripped the lower half of her peplos off, revealing the smooth skin of her calves.

"I'll fight you Prince Paris," Panthea spoke mockingly as she bowed to Paris. Hector and Andromache chuckled at her behavior, but neither of them knew what was in store. Hector's eyes lingered a little too long on Panthea's legs, but only Andromache noticed. Gesturing behind her, a servant brought a bundle to Panthea. Uncovering it, a sword was revealed beneath, Panthea's own sword given to her by her father. It had been shined and sharpened to perfection, the hilt having the crest of the house of Atreus. Swinging back and forth, testing for its balance, Panthea took a starting stance. Paris gave out a hearty laugh, thinking she was jesting with him. Only Priam, Helen, and Hector knew that was not the case and they prepared themselves for the worse.

Paris swung at Panthea, trying to scare her, but she merely stepped to the side and avoided his swing instead of crouching down as he thought she would. He swung again and she side-stepped again. Panthea began to circle him, her sword held tightly in her hand. Paris followed her with his eyes, gulping inaudibly as he realized he had gotten himself into something dangerous. Helen was shaking in her seat, her eyes fearful for what was to happen.

Panthea then began to lunge forward, her sword and her as one. Paris met her move with a block, trying to push her back. Panthea held her ground, pushing all her weight into her upper body as she dislodged their swords. She swung again, cutting the side of Paris's shoulder. Everyone gasped and Paris hissed at the contact, pulling back to assess the wound. Fury was apparent on his features. In his madness, he blindly swung at her. Panthea was not fazed by his inexperience and expertly knocked the sword out of his hand before tripping him and making him fall hard on the ground. She held her sword to his throat as he tried to push himself off the earth and he looked up at her, panic evident in his blue orbs. She put some pressure into the handle, making Paris move his head farther back to avoid his throat from being sliced open.

No one made a sound, only Panthea's heavy breathing could be heard. She looked like Athena in that moment, a wild look in eyes like she craved blood, Paris' blood. Sweat stuck to her body and dirt covered her feet from the fight. Hector was the only one who dared to move forward, taking small steps towards her so as not to startle her. Panthea did not notice him as she began speaking, tears staining her face.

"You've taken everything from me. You took me from my home, from my father, from my people. How could someone do that to another human being?" Panthea's voice was steady, but sadness still creeped in. "Someone without a heart, without a soul. Do you think the gods would care if I killed you little prince? I think they would feel pleased with me, with you taking a wife from her husband." Paris only stared at Panthea dumbly, looking to Hector for help.

Hector motioned for Paris not to give up his position, but Panthea had already noticed him. She was a warrior after all. "I see you my lord. I'm not stupid." Her glare now tuned to Hector, the fury of a thousand suns evident in them. Hector paused and raised his hands up to show her that he meant no harm.

Panthea paid him no attention, but then turned her anger on her mother. "And you," she said, looking towards Helen who was trembling, tears of her own falling down her face. "How could you leave Hermione by herself? How could you leave her, your own daughter behind, for a man you know nothing about?" Helen only shook her head, refusing to answer. "Tell me!" Panthea screamed, her hand wavering in its grip on the sword.

Moving quickly, Hector knocked the weapon out of her hand and pulled her to her chest. Paris sprung up, backing away from the pair and moving towards Helen who embraced him tightly. Panthea fought against Hector, hitting her hands against his chest roughly. She yelled at him to let her go, even when she accidently smacked his face. But he still held her firmly, whispering to her that she needed to calm down. She collapsed in his arms, tiring herself out. Hector lifted her up, gesturing for Andromache to follow as he carried the princess to her rooms. "I just want to go home," cried Panthea. She clung to Hector like a child, crying her pretty little eyes out until they were red.

Both Hector's and Andromache's hearts felt for Panthea in that moment, both breaking a little as they heard her frantic plea. Polydorus followed, amazed at what he had just seen. He stuck his tongue out at his older brother, making a point, and swiftly followed his elder brother. The court dispersed then, overcome with excitement at the event just witnessed. Priam watched as he son and daughter-in-law carried Panthea away. He was perplexed with Panthea's behavior. She acted more like a man than a woman with her headstrong nature. He knew then that he had something that the Greeks did not have and that was the gods champion.

* * *

Helen stood on the terrace of hers and Paris' rooms, looking out on the open waters as twilight descended on Troy. She had her arms wrapped around her as the chill of the wind blew against her. Paris was behind her, pacing nervously. Small scars were visible on his shoulder and at the base of his throat where Panthea's sword had slightly cut him. Something was wrong and both could feel it, but unlike Helen, Paris ignored it.

"They're coming for me, for Panthea and I. I can feel it. The wind is bringing them closer." Helen's voice was laced with dread.

"What if we left? Tonight, right now, what if we went down to the stables, took two horses and left. Ride east, keep riding…" Paris moves towards Helen and take her in his arms, trying to calm her fears.

"And go where? What about Panthea? I can't leave her." Helen knows what Paris says cannot be. They would not be able to go anywhere and if they did, they would be found immediately.

"Away from here. I could hunt deer, rabbit. I could feed us." Paris' words possess determination, but he forgets the harshness of reality. Helen turns to look at Paris with a look of disbelief. She has faith in him, but not to run away and leave their problems behind them. She couldn't put Panthea through that type of life, where they would always be on the run. Her daughter was so young and had a life ahead of her that Helen could only dream of.

"This is your home." Helen urges Paris to see reason. He was acting like a green horse, impetuous and inexperienced. She raises her hand to stroke his chiseled cheek. Paris leans into her touch.

"You left your home for me." Paris stares dead into Helen's eyes, attempting to convince her to obey him like an obedient wife. She breaks from his embrace and walks the length of their bedchamber, distressed with Paris' choice of words.

"Sparta was never my home. My parents sent me there when I was sixteen to marry Menelaus, but it was never my home." Helen's tone is downcast while she remembers the moment her parents abandoned her to her somewhat cruel husband. She was just a child and too young to be separated from her mother. Paris disregards her comments, determined to begin his newly hatched plan. Helen sits on a golden chaise in her room, looking to Paris as he continues to speak.

"We'll live off the land. No more palaces for us, no more servants. We don't need any of that." Paris' face is like that of a child, filled with longing and joy at the prospect of being his own man. He would have no duties, no one to scold him, and would only worry about Helen and Panthea to care for. He would be their protector.

"And your family?" Helen cannot believe what she is hearing. How could Paris give up his life for her? For Panthea? The girl wasn't even his child nor old enough to be with their 10-year age gap.

"We'd be protecting my family! If we're not here there's no need for a war." Helen can see Paris' point, but it's not enough for her.

"Menelaus won't give up. He'll track us to the end of the world," Helen murmurs. Terror is evident in her voice and her body is shaking as she relates this to Paris.

"He doesn't know these lands. I do. We can lose ourselves in a day." Helen rises from her position on the chaise and launches herself at Paris. She has a desperate look in her eyes as she grasps Paris' shoulders.

"You don't know Menelaus. You don't know his brother. They'll burn every house in Troy to find us. They'll never believe we've left, and even if they do, they'll burn Troy for spite." Tears are in Helen's blue orbs as she discloses this information to Paris. Her former husband and his brother would stop at nothing to find them and would punish those who harbored them. Paris considers her words and looks down at the floor, accepting her words.

"Then I'll make it easy for him to find me. I'll walk right up to him and tell him you're mine." Paris' dark depths are filled with a type of fire as he speaks. Helen wraps her arms around Paris and presses her lips to his in a chaste kiss.

"You're very young, my love."

* * *

The sun rises on the horizon, casting light on the grand city of Troy. Extra soldiers have been placed at the watch tower for precautions sake. Soldiers are preparing fortifications on the beach or standing guard. Many of the fortifications include sharpened spikes dug into the ground. There is earnestness in the men's efforts as they think about the questionable arrival of the enemy. There is no chatting, merely an overseer calling out orders to his men.

Priam kneels before the statue of Zeus, praying to the mighty god that his kingdom would remain safe from harm. His wise eyes look upwards at the face of the statue and his arms are outstretched as if he were begging, pleading with the Olympians to take him and not his children, not his people, not his Troy.

The temple of Apollo stand erect on the Trojan beach, the golden statue of Apollo shining brightly in the sun. Encased within the great temple are the priests and priestesses of Apollo, Briseis among them. She sprinkles ceremonial wine around the sacrificial fire as the priests prepare offerings on the altar of the gods. Pieces of pig fat are sliced and laid out delicately as the priests chant under their breaths.

Hector sits on a lounge chair happily in his bedchamber as he watches Panthea play with Astyanax on the tiled floor. Blankets and pillows surround them so Astyanax would not accidently hurt himself whilst rolling around on the cold tile. Panthea is holding the lion in her hands that Hector had carved on their journey back from Sparta. She giggles as Astyanax kicks his legs up in glee and tries to reach for the toy. Andromache watches as well, wiping her hands off after washing off the spit up Astyanax had gotten on her. She sits next to Hector and places her head on his shoulder as they watch the pair. She had come to care for Panthea very much in the past few weeks she had been in Troy and she wished for a moment to discuss with Hector what he intended for her.

Suddenly, a loud ringing echoes throughout the palace. The sound is harsh, but it alerts the occupants of Troy of nearing danger. Astyanax lets out a loud wail at the noise and Panthea holds the child to her chest before passing him to his mother. Hector hastily rises from his position and makes his way towards the balcony, looking out on the ocean horizon. His eyes widen in shock and horror as he spots hundreds of Greek ships sailing towards his home.

Turning around, Hector gazes at the two women before him. Andromache is frantic as she looks at her husband, clutching their child to her chest. Her arm is wrapped around Panthea tightly as she awaits her husband's orders. Panthea appears calm, but the look in her eyes is anything but. It is a combination of worry and panic, relief and elation. She didn't know what to feel as she looked at Hector. He steps towards them, embracing his wife and the girl of his passions tightly. Andromache clings to him desperately, while Panthea loosely wraps her arms around the Trojans and buries her face in crook of his neck.

"I won't let them touch you," Hector growls aggressively in their ears. The warrior within him had been awakened.

On the other side of the palace, Paris and Helen are woken by the ringing of the bell. Both make their way towards the balcony, Helen trembling in fear while Paris holds an unwavering glance at the approaching ships.

The Greeks had arrived in Troy and a war among wars was about to begin.

* * *

 **A/N: This was mostly a look at the arrival of Helen and Panthea in Troy. So excited for the next chapter! Things are about to get heated. Lots of love, WhiteRoseQueen xoxo**

 **P.S. sorry for the typing errors if there are any. I am going to go through and correct all chapter errors soon**


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.**

 **A/N: And the Greeks are finally in Troy! Welcome to my new followers/favs: .fleur, ursaes, lolivpop, Polishgeek, MaryBlackDumbledore, Newgurl312, TabloidTeen, AlejandraSI, Aurora101, NutellaToast, Pearl's Beauty, and gracieann. Thank you so much to my reviewers. Your support is everything. Shout out to Ariana Le Fay for keeping me on schedule lol I'm such a procrastinator and thanks to Angel897, NightlyRowenTree, Jazu10501, and others (guests) who have reviewed since the beginning.**

 **Response to Guest:**

 **Me too lol I've been so busy that updating seemed impossible for a while. I will try to improve on that. I know. A lot of people are torn between Achilles and Hector. Both are amazing to me in the Iliad and in my story if I do say so myself haha. I wish I could exclude her, but Briseis is kind of essential. You will see that in this chapter. BTW could you put a name for yourself so I can know how to address you instead of just using guest haha Thanks for reviewing**

 **Response to Gingerspice:**

 **Glad you like the new development! A lot of people portray Andromache as a jealous wife, but to me she is anything but. Thank you for reviewing**

* * *

 **Ch. 10**

" _ **Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws, and asks no omen, but his country's cause."**_

 _ **~Homer, The Iliad**_

* * *

Chaos was the only word that could be used to describe the behavior of the Trojans as the Greek enemies neared the shore. Merchants rushed through the marketplace, their arms filled with wares as they hurried to their homes. Parents hurried to find their little ones who had been caught in the current of panic. People rush into the city from the countryside, many leading horses or other animals behind them. Fisherman carry baskets of their live catches quickly through the streets. The bells ring out again as sentries strike them again.

Soldiers rush to defend their city, many already on the beach because of the building of fortifications. Many are archers and they form a line along the beach quickly, a symbol of their efficient training. Pits are placed in front of them, fire burning from the logs lighted inside. The fire will be used to light specific arrows that would be aimed to kill Greeks and destroy their ships. Spearmen also line along the beach to protect the city.

An armada of around a thousand ships are being blown by strong winds and carried by the ocean currents to the Trojan shore. The occupants within are either yelling out orders or rowing the ship to get to the beach quicker. Achilles' ship sails a quarter mile ahead of the rest, he himself standing on the prow of the ship as he looks at the city encasing his little warrior inside. His eyes are almost black, matching the sails of his ship. They hold an intense look of combined feelings as he stares at the walled city: hatred for Hector and lust for blood that only a warrior can possess.

Behind him, the oarsmen row determinedly through the rough seas. They yell encouraging words to each other as they try to stay ahead of the other Greeks. Eudorus makes his way towards the great warrior, passing by Patroclus who stares over the railing of the ship at the others lagging behind. He had begged to come with Achilles, who of course granted his cousin's wish, but had no intention of letting him fight.

"My lord," spoke Eudorus, "Should we wait for the others?"

Achilles answers concisely. "They brought us here for war, didn't they?" His eyebrows raise up in question as he waits for his right-hand man to respond. The burning gaze he held is gone as he watches his men prepare for battle.

"Yes, but Agamemnon's orders…" Eudorus is interrupted by Achilles' gruff voice.

Achilles' has veered his body back in the direction of Troy, his eyes scanning the army forming in defense on the beach. "Do you fight for me, Eudorus? Or Agamemnon?" Achilles' tone is teasing, but commanding as well. Patroclus listens in on the conversation, holding on to one of the many ropes on the ship. He looks between Achilles and Eudorus, watching as the master controlled the follower.

"For you my lord." Eudorus answers loyally.

"Then fight for me. And let the servants of Agamemnon fight for him."

On the warship of Agamemnon stands Menelaus, Nestor, and Agamemnon himself. The three stand there scrutinizing Achilles as his ship nears the Trojan shore. Agamemnon is filled with fury while the other two watch with awe.

"Black sails. Its Achilles." Nestor is terse in his words, admiring the god-like man's courage and bravery as well as sheer stupidity for making such a move. Only Achilles could do such a thing and be blessed by the gods.

"What is that fool doing? He's going to take the beach of Troy with fifty men? He'll die before he reaches the city walls." Agamemnon's voice in anger itself as his face turns red and his blood runs warm, watching the beast of a man he could not control.

"Achilles die? You must be mad. We lose him and you lose your army." Nestor stares at Agamemnon with a matter of fact look in his wise orbs.

"How'd you manage to get him to come anyways brother? He despises you," Menelaus asks.

"Odysseus. That man has a way with words, manipulating and scheming wherever he goes."

"Is that the only reason?" Menelaus questions in a serious tone, hinting at something Agamemnon had not mentioned to him. The brothers stare at each other as they engage in a power struggle, each trying to maintain control of the situation. Nestor looks between them nervously, waiting for Agamemnon to finally answer his question.

"Your daughter." Agamemnon's tone is sharp, hinting that the conversation was over. Menelaus hesitates for a moment, his jaw tightening in anger, before he backs down from the bait. Instead, he walks away and begins shouting out orders for the men to row faster. However, both brothers know their conflict is far from over.

* * *

Inside Troy, every able-bodied man has made his way towards the armory. Tecton, the captain of the Apollonian guard, has just arrived. His horse is sweating profusely after he urged it to gallop throughout the many twists and turns of the city, navigating his way through the panicked crowds. He dismounts his horse and enters the armory just like every other Trojan. The building is filled with several weapons. Racks of spears, swords, and shields like the wall while helmets, breastplates, shin guards, and other armor is being unpacked from chests. Everything is being passed around to the Trojan citizens.

Hector stands among the chaos, watching the men as they ready for battle. Excitement, resolve, and fright are apparent on all the men's face. He worries for them, worries for his country. Many of them will not survive the morning, but they knew that. All they cared about was protecting Troy and its inhabitants. Hector spots Tecton and calls out to the man.

"Is the Apollonian guard ready?" Hector is eager to begin, though he fears the loss that will occur as does in warfare.

"Waiting at the city gates," Tecton replies. His face is that of war.

"Good. I'll be right there." Hector still has many things to look over before he can join the men. He turns to one of the other officers. "Lysander, how long until the army is ready?"

"Half of our men are still coming in from the countryside. We have to arm them. We have to match them with the right officers…"

Hector interrupts before Lysander can finish his sentence. "How long?" His tone is impatient.

"Noon." Lysander gulps inaudibly as he looks at his prince nervously.

"Make it sooner." Hector abruptly ends the conversation as he leaves the armory and makes his way towards the Apollonian guard.

* * *

"Patroclus," Achilles exclaims, calling his cousin to him. Patroclus is suited for battle and makes his way towards Achilles.

"Put down your spear." Achilles is resolute in his decision to not let Patroclus fight. He couldn't lose him.

"But I'm fighting the Trojans cousin." Patroclus's face is filled with shock as he looks at his cousin's nonchalant expression.

"Not today."

"But I'm ready. You taught me how to fight." Patroclus cannot believe what he is hearing.

"And you're a good student, but not a Myrmidon yet." Achilles tries to get Patroclus to understand that he was not one of them yet, that he was not ready to be a warrior yet.

Achilles gestures to the Myrmidons in front of them. "Look at them. These are the fiercest soldiers in Greece. Each of them has bled for me." He pulls Patroclus to him, stroking his cousin's hair in a fatherly manner. "You will guard the ship." His voice does not make way for questions, but is forceful.

"This is war."

"Cousin." Achilles jerks his cousin to him as he whispers in his ear. "I can't fight the Trojans if I'm concerned about you. Guard the ship."

Patroclus yanks himself out of his cousin's grasp, throwing his weapons down angrily. He is annoyed with his cousin's lack of faith in him. "I'm sure you'd let me fight if I had the same cause as you." Achilles tenses as he watches Patroclus disappear, his eyes straying back to the city of Troy as he thinks of Panthea.

* * *

The last members missing from the Apollonian guard ride through the city gates to where the others have gathered. A formation has been created amongst the elite riders, the more experienced present in the front of the line while new recruits were placed in the back. The horses are groomed to perfection, their coats shining in noon sun. The riders are equipped with weapons and armed for protection as the wait for their crown prince. Hector and Tecton soon join the 100-select units chosen for the Apollonian guard, Hector scrutinizing the soldiers. He nods at them, pleased with the men for having gathered so quickly. The men quiet down, waiting for their leader to speak.

Hector gives his men a motivational speech to rouse their strength and courage. It is short, but its straight to the point and just what the men need to cast aside all fears. "All my life, I've lived by a code, and the code is simple. Honor the gods. Love your woman. And defend your country." The men all let out hearty roars at Hector's words. "Troy is mother to us all. Fight for her!" Turning his horse to face the battle ahead, Hector leads his men into the fray, praying for the gods to protect himself as well as his men and people. Little does he know what he is about see on the steps of the temple of Apollo.

* * *

As soon as Hector had left his and Andromache's chambers, Panthea finally realized the full magnitude behind the Greeks arrival in Troy. Her father had come for her and her mother like she thought he would, but the great number of ships approaching the shore confirmed that he was following someone else's agenda, Agamemnon's to be more specific. Menelaus had done the most desperate thing he could do: he went to his elder brother for aid and now a war was beginning, a full-scale war that would last for years if it could. Agamemnon's greed had finally gotten the best of him and Troy was his next conquest. Whether the citizens of the city were harmed or not did not matter to Panthea's uncle, only the riches and power over Priam appealed to him. Loss of life was of little consequence.

Andromache watched Panthea intently out of the corner of her eye as she observed the Dardanian ships near her home. Astyanax was sleeping soundly in his basket, unaware of the danger heading for them. Andromache was worried, worried for the safety of her husband and the fact that Panthea could be taken from her, given back to her father like prized cattle. Panthea was now a bargaining tool in this game of politics and war. It sickened her, the way women were bartered off so easily and forgotten by their family. Thankfully, her father was doting and affectionate, asking Andromache her opinion of Hector before they were officially engaged. But that was not the way of the world and Andromache was lucky enough to not have experienced the unfairness of a woman's life.

Panthea was silent, her face white as a sheet as she sat on the edge of Andromache's and Hector's bed. She was immobilized by her thoughts, breathing heavily as she tried to sort out a strategy in her mind. She had to evade Andromache without causing her any uneasiness. In her heart, Panthea knew she needed to find a way to make it to the beach to try and save Troy from their impending doom. She could try and convince Menelaus that war was unnecessary, that perhaps he could divorce Helen and find a new wife. There was a possibility Panthea would be disinherited, but that did not matter now. Lives were at stake for the mistake of one woman who could not control herself.

Easing herself off the soft sheets of the bed, Panthea captured the attention of Andromache who sent her a forced smile. "It's alright Panthea. You have no need to worry."

Panthea nodded before speaking softly. "But what about Briseis?" Although the Dardanians were still not at shore, they posed a threat to the occupants of the temple of Apollo. The priests might be spared, but Briseis would most likely be taken as a concubine for one of the kings apart of this new war.

"I don't know," Andromache said truthfully. "We can only hope that the gods will protect her."

Panthea could only shake her head in agreeance. Her eyes strayed towards the ground guiltily as she thought of her next move. She bit her inside cheek, thinking of something unalarming she could say to Andromache so she could leave the chamber. "May I go see my mother?" she asked. Andromache was taken aback by her words. She hadn't spent any time with Helen, but perhaps the occasion called for a reunion between mother and daughter.

Andromache nodded at Panthea encouragingly and stepped further into the room. "Of course, little one. Would you like me to go with you?" Panthea shook her disagreement as she edged towards the door.

"I'd rather go by myself if you don't mind." Panthea stayed silent as she searched Andromache's face for any type of disappointment, but she saw none. She fiddled with her peplos nervously, waiting for the Trojan princess to answer. Andromache nodded her head, understanding that Panthea wished to be alone or appeared so. She had no idea what Panthea was up to and agreed to what she wanted, smiling softly at Panthea as she departed.

Andromache felt relief that perhaps this dilemma would help Panthea to reform her relationship with Helen, that is, until she noticed Panthea's sword missing from its position next to Hector's personal armor. She let out frightened gasp and jerked towards the door, swinging it open wildly. The guards posted next to her rooms stood at attention immediately, but were perturbed at her odd behavior. Yelling loudly at them, she interrogated where Panthea was. They motioned to the right corridor, asking their princess what was wrong. "Find her," she spoke, "She's trying to leave Troy."

Panthea was one with the shadows as she made her way through the Trojan palace, her feet barely audible as she stepped on the marble floor. She made sure to stay along the wall and ducked her head whenever anyone passed by. Her sword was plastered to her side, hidden in her skirts in a way that was unnoticeable unless one had a trained eye for it. Guards rushed by her in a panic as they made their way to the city entrance. It seemed as if everyone was being fitted for war, no man was spared. No one noticed her during the chaos occurring.

Nearing the entrance to the palace, Panthea let out a small prayer to the gods for letting her escape be simple and not difficult. However, appearing from behind a column was Cassandra. Her face held a blank expression when she saw Panthea, but her eyes held a knowing gaze. Taking her hands out from behind her back, she revealed that she had a few provisions with her for Panthea: a cloak, a dagger, and a small bag of food. Panthea was overcome with shock, staring at her new friend in surprise. "I had a feeling you wouldn't stay here while the men prepared for war." Cassandra softly smiled at Panthea who returned the gesture. "There's a horse already saddled for you, hidden in an alley next to the palace walls. Don't take the main street and stay clear of the soldiers. The gate is the only way in and out of Troy so when you get there, don't stop. Hector will still be the armory, so hurry."

Panthea nodded at Cassandra's words, slipping the cloak over her shoulders and pulling the hood over her head. Thankfully, her clothes were darker colors so she would be unnoticeable for the most part. Making sure she had everything situated, she embraced Cassandra in a sisterly hug and murmured her thanks before departing. Cassandra followed Panthea with her eyes, watching as she rode away from the palace and towards the fray outside the city walls. The soldiers were too late, bustling around the corner as Panthea disappeared from view. None of them paid attention to Cassandra's presence, believing it was her odd nature that made her appear so calm. They bowed to her before returning to Andromache emptyhanded.

Panthea flew through the city streets like a mad man as she urged her steed towards the city gates. Her fingers griped the reins tightly and her thighs squeezed against the horse harder as they neared their destination. She could hardly see anything through her tangled hair, but the commotion she heard steered her in the right direction. The louder the noise, the closer she got to leaving Troy. Brushing the tangled strands out of her face, she pulled the hood tighter around her head. She knew her hair would be a dead giveaway, therefore it was essential to conceal it from view.

Nearing the crowds, Panthea maneuvered around them skillfully and avoided colliding with stragglers as she kept her horse at its fast pace. Many of them yelled out at her for what they considered stupidity, but she continued. Nothing could deter her. Finally, she spotted the impenetrable gate ahead, looming over the citizens of Troy as a sign of protection and security. There were guards, but they were few. It would be easy to overcome them. Besides, they were too occupied with helping the horrified Trojans enter the city or aiding others as they armed for battle. Pushing the steed to move faster, Panthea exited the city gate. No one stopped her, a smirk appearing on her face.

Little did Panthea know that one pair of dark eyes watched as she departed the city. His gaze was that of perplexity and rage as he watched the Spartan princess urge her horse toward the Temple of Apollo. All Hector knew was that when he reached her, he would never let her escape from him again. He would rather chain her to a wall and have her hate them then have her returned to Menelaus where she awaited a questionable fate.

* * *

The hood of Panthea's cloak fell from her head, her hair flying wildly in the wind as she galloped across the Trojan beach. She didn't care if anyone spotted her now that she was outside the city gates. Her father's men would immediately know who she was as well as her uncle's. She was free.

However, one thought was nagging Panthea in the back of her mind. _Briseis. She was in the temple and needed to leave before the soldiers reached her._ Panthea spurred the horse faster, foam dripping from its mouth as it listened to its new mistress. Instead of dismounting at the steps, she went to the side of the golden building and dismounted there so as not to be seen. She didn't need any attention drawn to herself or else Briseis as well as herself would be taken. The horse wouldn't budge. It was too tired to move and would wait for Panthea to return.

Climbing the stairs of the temple, Panthea unsheathed her sword from its encasing just in case she needed to use it at a moment's notice. She had visited the temple with Priam one afternoon and noticed it was dimly lit. The priests relied on the light from the sun rather than torches to see during the day. If any of the Greeks were already inside, they could mistake Panthea for a Trojan and kill her instantly if she was not ready.

Entering the temple through a side archway, Panthea pushed herself against the wall as she studied the scene within. The priests were praying to the gods, all of them ignorant of the battle raging outside as they kneeled before the statue of Apollo. Briseis was with them, performing her duties diligently. The sacrificial cow was burning before them, smoke rising to the roof of the temple. Panthea was exasperated. She couldn't believe that they would not abandon their posts as the enemy neared. These people did not know how ruthless her uncle could be.

Spurring into action, Panthea quietly made her way towards Briseis. Everyone had their eyes closed in prayer, except for Briseis who looked scared out of her wits at the impending threat the Greeks posed to her. Her eyes connected with Panthea's and widened in surprise as well as relief. She went to rise, but Panthea motioned for her to stay still for a moment, pressing her pointer finger to her lips. A loud commotion could be heard from the entrance of the temple. The Dardanians had taken over the shore and were now heading towards the Temple of Apollo to reap their prizes.

Lunging towards Briseis, Panthea jerked her up from her kneeling position and practically dragged her to the side entrance. Panthea didn't even notice when she scraped her arm against the wall, blood dripping from the small cut. Her adrenaline was taking over. The two women hastened down the steps, not paying attention to the calls of the priests behind them. Their hands were entwined in a comforting way, knowing they had each other to get them through their current situation. They both disliked each other, but they set their differences aside for the moment.

Shuffling through the sand, the pair made their way along the side of the temple and towards the exhausted stallion a few feet away. He nickered at them as they neared and he stepped in their direction so as to meet them halfway. Halting in front of the creature, Panthea motioned for Briseis to mount first. The priestess followed her orders and situated herself in the saddle before looking down at Panthea to tell her she could mount. However, Panthea was not standing anywhere near the horse like Briseis thought, but was peering over the side of the temple. Her mouth hung open in disbelief and her eyes shined with happiness as she stared at the warrior standing on the front steps of Apollo's temple. Achilles had come to Troy.

* * *

"Myrmidons, my brothers of the sword." Achilles was beginning his motivational speech to his men, their eyes alight with the fire of war. He grinned at them, knowing exactly how they felt. It was time for glory and honor. Hearing their master speak, they looked at him expectantly, ready for his inspirational words to reach their ears. They believed in Achilles and would follow him anywhere. "I'd rather fight beside you then any army of thousands." The men all hit their spears against the deck of the boat loudly in an encouraging manner. Eudorus looked straight at Achilles' as his lord spoke. He was mesmerized by the way he could command attention in the split of a second.

"Let no men forget how menacing we are. We are lions." The Myrmidons hit their spears against the deck more quickly and louder then before, letting out thunderous hurrahs. Achilles continued. "You know what's there, waiting, beyond that beach?" Achilles points towards the city of Troy. "Immortality. Take it, it's yours." He forms a ball with his hand as if he has already received the gift of the gods. In his other hand, his sword is directed at the men, not in a threatening manner, but so as to emphasize his words. The men all let out shouts of agreement, their armor clanging together.

Eudorus hands Achilles his helmet, which he dons immediately, and then places his weapons in his hands respectfully before arming himself. Achilles then turns to the Trojan shore, watching as the enemy took up their positions. His face is sharp as he looks on, calculating the safest route to the beach and what strategies he and his men needed to use before breaking off and fending for themselves.

As soon as the vessel hits shore, Achilles jumps from the ship in a feline manner, crouching in a defensive stance. Arrows lit with fire whistle through the air at him immediately, but he dodges them deftly. Many of his men follow, some not as lucky as they are struck and fall to the ground, dead. Some don't even make it off the ship, falling to their knees in pain as the arrows hits their targets. Achilles continue forward, leaving the command to Eudorus as he makes his way further up the beach. He is fierce and determined in his movements, thoughts of Panthea running through his mind. Achilles was there for her and no one else. He doesn't even bat an eyelash when an arrow grazes his unprotected arm.

Making his way up the beach, Achilles crouches down, his shield held in front of him protectively as he screens himself from another volley of arrows. He yells out to the men on his flanks and they create a formation around him using their shields. A type of shell looking creation is made as the men hold their shields directly in front of them and over their heads. When fire ceases, two of the Myrmidons return the attack, shooting arrows at their enemies before darting back under cover.

The Greeks watch in astonishment as they lag behind the great Achilles, all except Agamemnon who eyes the scene with indifference. He's seen this happen many times before, but something is different this time. His eyes widen in shock as Achilles pushes forward, never stopping to watch his men as they fall "The man wants to die," he says incredulously, his arms holding his weight as he leans on his ship's railing. Menelaus and Nestor can't help, but agree as they watch Achilles storm across the beach.

Once everyone is situated in their position, the shields are lifted slightly and the Myrmidons shuffle across the sand and closer to the Trojan archers. Only their sandal covered feet and muscular legs can be seen, yet no one aims so low to the ground. Spears scrape across the tops of the shields as the Trojans try to pierce through their defenses. An opening has been made between two of the shields, Achilles peering out with his sharp eyes as he watches the fray in front of him. "On my command," he yells in an imposing tone as they near the Trojans. He signals to Eudorus when he's ready and the man yells out Achilles orders.

The Myrmidons break off from each other, each man now vulnerable as the group is separated. It is a battle for survival now as each man is for himself. Achilles vaults himself up onto the Trojan fortification, throwing his spear forcefully at one of the larger men. It's as easy as slicing butter. The spear drives itself into the man's flesh, killing him instantly as it imbeds itself in the man's head. The tip of the spear is visible from the back. Achilles' men follow his lead, climbing up the hills of sand to massacre the archers. It's a bloodbath as the Myrmidons take down archer after archer, the Trojans' ranks depleting quickly.

Achilles appears unstoppable, finishing off enemy by enemy. No one can keep up with his strength and stamina. Knocking one swordsman aside with his shield, another tries to engage him, but is immediately stabbed in the stomach. Chaos surrounds him and his men, adrenaline running through his veins like fire. Achilles is a monster, slaughtering all who cross his path. Pushing his way farther up the beach, Achilles sets his sights on the golden temple of Apollo, his next target.

Meanwhile, the warrior Ajax watches with envy from his ship. He's a large man with huge muscles and a scarred face to match with his gruff personality. Apparently, Achilles was a threat to him even though they both were recruited for Agamemnon's cause. Making his way to the front of the ship, he pushes his commanders aside, sneering at the sight in front of him. "Look at him, hogging all the glory," he speaks dangerously low. The men beside him tremble at the anger in his voice. Turning back towards the oarsmen, he casts one aside, knocking him out of his seat as Ajax takes his position. It would have been an amusing moment, seeing Ajax toss a man aside so effortlessly, but the atmosphere of war is at hand. "Row you lazy whores, row! Greeks are dying! Row!" His veins pop out of his arms as he rows vigorously. The oarsmen push forward, doubling their speed to reach their comrades ashore.

Hector and his men are galloping across the beach at breakneck speed as they reach the dunes above the raging battle. Hector halts, his men following his actions as he spots Ajax's ship make port on the Trojan shore. He grimaces as he watches the mighty Ajax plow through his men, his shield battering some while his large ax-like weapon strikes others. "Those men down there need help, now! Tecton, with me!" The Apollonian guard separates into two companies, one heading down the beach to aid their comrades while Hector's group continues towards Apollo's temple.

Ajax in unfazed as he pulls an imbedded arrow out from his leg, breaking it in half as he approaches his next victim. A man lies next to him in a pool of blood, his inners falling from his stomach. The Trojans all share looks of horror as they see the state of their comrade, but they continue on. Two men on horseback are the next to engage Ajax, but he knocks them off their steeds, crushing their skulls with his weapon. Further down the beach, Achilles is cutting down Trojan by Trojan, his face dripping with their blood. He is ruthless in his attack, sparing no one. His men do the same, yet without the same ease Achilles possesses.

Roaring at his men to follow, Achilles pursues another opponent, his spear tearing a man's throat apart. He leaves it there, roughly pulling his bronze sword from its sheath. He combats another Trojan, driving the sword through the man's breastplate. Approaching the temple, he is met with a fire of arrows, but dodges them easily, using his shield to his advantage. Latching the protective gear onto his back, he is left exposed to all. However, no one can touch him. A group of five Trojans advance towards him, but he slices through their attacks without difficulty, killing all. He does the same with several other men, cutting their throats open or stabbing them in their most vulnerable areas. Blood is sprayed everywhere, but it does not daunt him.

Achilles sword flashes brightly in the sun as he cuts down soldier after soldier, his movements flawless and precise. The Trojans are no match for him or his Myrmidons in hand-to-hand combat. Releasing one last attack, his sword is launched from his hand and into the face of a poor Trojan, immediately killed at contact. The temple is now the Myrmidons.

Facing the sea, Achilles lets out loud sigh as he calms his nerves. He is not out of breath as many would be. Instead, his breathing is even as his gaze studies the Greeks now on shore. They call out his name in loud cheers, the sounds ringing in his ears. The Trojans are called back to the city, appalled at the massive amount of Greeks now crowding their shores. Removing his helmet from his head, his golden hair is freed to the wind. Sweat drips down his face and mingles with the blood and grime coating his body. He turns to his men who have gathered at the foot of the temple's steps. "The Sun God is the patron of Troy, our enemy. Take whatever treasure you can find." The men cheer in response to his words and flood the temple.

"With your permission, my lord," Eudorus says respectfully, moving to stand by his side. Achilles rubs his face in exhaustion, his movements taking a toll on his body. He nods at Eudorus, muttering, "Speak," in a tired tone.

Concern is evident of Eudorus's face, his blue eyes pleading with Achilles. "Apollo sees everything. Perhaps…" he stutters, "Perhaps it is not wise to offend him."

Achilles considers his words for a moment before jerking around and beheading the statue of Apollo with his sword. Eudorus is aghast at his actions, a gasp caught in his throat. Achilles throws his sword from hand to hand nonchalantly, not caring for Eudorus's reaction. His right-hand man yields to judgement, walking towards the entrance of the temple. Both men stand at attention when they see Hector spurring his horse towards him, his company in tow.

"Warn the men." Eudorus nods at his master's words and turns back towards the temple before being halted by Achilles next words. "Wait." Eudorus sees Achilles' hand extended out to him, gesturing toward the spear in his hands. Eudorus concedes to his leader, placing the spear in his hands. He adjusts his grip on the weapon before stepping forward, readying himself to throw the weapon, that is until a small voice deters him from his task.

"Achilles," Panthea mutters, her voice barely reaching the mighty warrior's ears. He turns, stopping in his tracks as he spots Panthea pressed against the side of the temple. He thinks she's nothing, but a figment of his imagination. Her brilliant eyes connect with Achilles intense gaze as she moves towards him, reaching her hand out in front of her. He eyes her, his hold tightening menacingly on the spear as he examines her appearance. She's even more appealing to him than before, her body clothed in a black peplos that contrasts greatly with her white-blond hair. There was a dangerous quality to her being, one hand reaching out to him while the other clutched her sword firmly.

Taking small steps towards the bloodthirsty warrior, Panthea lifts her hand up and gently places it on his face, not minding the condition of his body. Her palm lingers on his soft cheek and Achilles close his eyes at the sweet contact, suddenly dropping his weapon from his hand and pulling Panthea into his embrace. The movement startles the Spartan princess, but she soon relaxes as Achilles begins to murmur sweet nothings into her ear and strokes her hair lovingly. Grasping her chin in his strong grip, he yanks her face up to meet his in a heated kiss. Panthea whimpers at the touch of his warm lips against hers, grabbing roughly at his shoulders as she presses her lithe body against his muscular one. He takes the opportunity and plunges his tongue into her mouth as she whimpers, making him groan in response. He wishes he could just take her there, hard and fast against the temple floor, but with the audience they had, the idea was losing its pull.

Pulling away reluctantly, Achilles presses his forehead to Panthea as she catches her breath. His eyes dart to the approaching horsemen, narrowing slightly when he sees Hector at the head. His fingers dig into Panthea's side as his dominating side takes over. He pushes her behind him protectively, her body barely showing from behind his. She presses her face into his back, waiting for what's next. Nearing the temple, Hector goes to thrust his spear at the invincible man, but falters, remembering Panthea is right behind him. His eyes stare at Panthea in trepidation while Achilles smiles at Hector provokingly, ushering Panthea inside the temple with a carefree manner.

Dismounting from his horse at the foot of the temple, Hector gestures for his men to do the same. They all draw their swords and raise their shields in front of them, cautious as they enter into the dangerous temple. Evidence of looting is clear as Hector spots random pieces of gold scattered across the floor, probably haven fallen from their encasements. The light is dim and the men struggle to adjust their eyes. The Myrmidons move about in the darkness ready to strike. Achilles stand at the top of the steps within, Panthea clinging to him as he stares down at Hector condescendingly. Achilles is a man of immortal ancestry, blessed with gifts unimaginable. Hector is an ordinary man who has had to work hard for his skills and intelligence. The men could be no more different than they were in that moment.

Disappearing from view, Hector can hear Panthea whimpering as she is pulled away. The sound makes his blood boil and he races forward to free her from Achilles spell. However, before he can move any further, the Myrmidons reveal themselves. War cries echo throughout the dwelling as the Myrmidons emerge from their hiding places. Hector is a clear target as he is surrounded by several, each one struck down by his arm. Eudorus stands a few feet away, yelling war cries in one man's face as he slits his throat.

Ascending the steps further in the temple, Hector stops and gasps at the sight in front of him. The priests are all laying in their blood, limbs spread wide and their throats slit open. Their eyes stare up lifeless at the ceiling. Hector kneels and assessing the damage before glaring into what appeared an empty room. "You're very brave or very stupid to come after me alone." Achilles voice echoes through the darkness as he sits in the corner. He moves his face into the light, staring down at Achilles. "You must be Hector." Hector remains silent as he watches Achilles warily.

Achilles rises from his position in the corner and steps on top of the altar, testing Hector. Panthea is nowhere in sight. "You know who I am?"

"These priests were unarmed," Hector growls. His hatred for Achilles is evident in the way he glares as Achilles as well as his tense body language. His eyes dart back and forth, looking for Panthea. "Where is she?" Achilles ignores his question. The two men blatantly stare at the other, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Hector lunges forward, his sword pointing threateningly at Achilles. "Fight me," he yells. Achilles glides away from his opponent, climbing up on the altar and baring his sword as well. He smirks, knowing he has power over Hector. He dismounts from the altar imperturbably, turning his back to Hector uncaringly as he exits out the side.

"Why kill you, prince of Troy, with no one here to see you fall?" Achilles voice is teasing, yet intimidating at the same time. Exiting out onto the terrace, Panthea rejoins Achilles, his arms wrapping around her waist tenderly. Hector stares at her questionably, but she won't meet his eyes.

The sun glares down on them as they watch the Greek ships descend upon the beach. Hector is still in a defensive stance. "Why did you come here?" Hector asks.

Achilles gestures at the invading armada. "They'll be talking about this war for a thousand years." Hearing his words, Panthea stares up at him uncertainly, rethinking her thoughts on why he was there. Achilles sees her discomfort and reassures her by placing a small kiss on the top of her head. She blushes in response.

"In a thousand years, the dust from our bones will be gone." Hector speaks incredulously. He watches the couple's interaction curiously, but it is replaced by jealousy when he sees Achilles kiss her again.

"Yes, prince. But our names will remain." The thought alone makes Achilles shiver in anticipation. To have his name written in history would be his greatest accomplishment. He would be renowned for his abilities and not the fact that he controlled others to do his dirty work like Agamemnon. The Myrmidons suddenly emerge from the temple, all coated by blood. They are led by Eudorus who orders them to surround the enemy. Hector backs away warily, his eyes darting to Panthea and then back to the Myrmidons. Achilles looks at Hector gloomily, thinking of war and its results. All the Trojans Hector had ridden with were dead. Speaking seriously, he says, "Go home, prince. Drink some wine. Make love to your wife. Tomorrow we'll have our war."

Hector lowers his weapon to seem less threatening to the Myrmidons. He inches towards Achilles as he tries to teach him the real meaning of war. Achilles understood the effects, but not to the extent Hector did. He was older, more experienced, and the heir to a country at that matter. "You speak of war as if it's a game. But how many wives wait at Troy's gate for husbands they'll never see again?" Panthea frowned at his words, hitting her hard, while Achilles merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Perhaps your brother can comfort them. I hear he's good at charming other men's wives." Achilles comment was mocking as he tried to get a rise out of the prince of Troy. Hector ignored the bait, sighing deeply. Achilles again was condescending as he made a sound at Hector to scurry off, to which Hector blatantly snubbed again. Instead he looked at Panthea, pleading with his eyes as he reached his hand out to her.

Panthea's face was one of genuine debate as she tried to decide to stay with Achilles or return to the city with Hector. If she went with Achilles, she would be subjected to living in a camp quarters and be reunited with her father and cruel uncle. By going with the latter, she would be placed in more secure dwellings and reside with the people she had come to love and care about. The clockworks ticking in her brain, Panthea moved further against Achilles, snuggling into his embrace. Hector appeared defeated, nodding in understanding as he departed back for Troy. The Greeks let him leave with no protest, wondering why the great Achilles would release Hector from his clutches.

Panthea may have decided to stay with Achilles, but where her heart and loyalty lay could still be questioned. She watched Hector with a forlorn expression in her eyes, one that she didn't even realize she was making. However, Achilles noticed, his lips tightening in a thin line and his arms tightening around her waist. He had to remind her why he was in Troy before her true emotions could be discovered.

* * *

 **A/N: Reunited at last! Now the game is truly in play. Also, I just wanted to tell you guys the next few weeks I will be very busy with finals approaching. My update will be delayed, but I will try to get another chapter out in three weeks. Thank you, guys, for understanding. Hope you enjoyed the chapter**


	12. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.**

 **A/N: Sorry for such a late update! I am finally free for the summer! Welcome to my new favs/followers: Aliana bishop, kitsune103, EverWandering14, amatista1996, runawaycherry93, RaysonInTheSun, kate4733, purpleheart689, KJNlover034, jazmynrim, Laterria2009, .Chocolate, and SurferGirl711. Hope you guys enjoy the chapter.**

 **Response to Favoritestory3 (guest): Thank you for reviewing!**

 **Response to Ginger snap (guest): Glad you liked the reunion! Hope you like this chapter.**

* * *

 **Ch. 11**

" _ **There is nothing alive more agonized than man, of all that breathe and crawl across the earth."  
~ **__**Homer**_ _ **,**_ _ **The Iliad**_

* * *

The god of all gods, the leader of Olympus, and possessor of lightning sat in his throne room, erect in his grand chair as he stared down on the mortals below. A change of events had occurred. His granddaughter now lay in the clutches of Achilles or, rather Agamemnon. Of course, he would not let that deter his plans, but further them for Panthea was his champion. Hera lingered in the hall, her presence annoying Zeus to no end. She was talking with son, Ares, who shook his head at his mother's words. They were on opposite sides, Hera siding with the Greeks while Ares fought for the Trojans. Olympus was divided in half.

Artemis, Apollo, and Athena were also present, conversing in the corner of the hall about Panthea. The twins' opinions may have been opposite of Athena's position, but when it came to Panthea, all differences were cast aside.

"Perhaps her going with the Greeks is a good thing. She'll be able to turn the house of Atreus upside down," Apollo spoke with a smirk. Artemis rolled her eyes at her elder brother while Athena chuckled.

A serious expression then appeared on Athena's face. "Something is going to happen that will change this war. I can feel it. Panthea's acquiescence to go with Achilles will spur a chain of events. This is only the beginning, not the end. The fates had told father all, what destiny lay ahead for each mortal, but now, there is nothing. This war was supposed to last for weeks, now it may last for years. The fate's visions have been clouded by the involvement of Panthea. She decides what will happen next and until she acts, all is unknown." Athena's siblings nodded in agreement.

"We will have to guide her then sister. When Agamemnon is ruined, our goal will have been achieved." Artemis' tone was firm and determined. If Zeus wanted to end the reign of a mortal, it would be carried out. The siblings grasped each other's hands, promising they would carry out this deed together. Panthea was their champion and would forever remain that person.

* * *

Hector rode back into the city of Troy a defeated man, his head hung low and his shoulders slouched in his seat. Surrounding him were the other men of Troy who had escaped the blood bath on the beach. Their eyes reflected the horrors of war, their skin was covered in layers of blood and sweat, and their bodies were shaking in terror. Women ran out to meet the men, some crying out with joy when they saw one of their male family members return, others sobbed in grief when they realized their loved ones would not be returning, but would travel to be at peace in Elysium.

The whole Apollonian Guard had been annihilated, except for Tecton who had escaped and escorted Briseis back safely to the palace. Hector sighed in relief when he realized his cousin had not been violated by the Greeks, but was saved by Panthea herself. He cringed as he thought about the Spartan princess, the look on her face hovering in her mind. He knew both Andromache and Helen would surely be disappointed in him, but he could not force Panthea to return with him, especially when he had several swords at his throat.

Halting at the palace steps, a stable boy nodded respectfully and grabbed the reigns of Hector's horse, allowing the tamer of horses to dismount and make his way towards his father who held a grim expression on his face. Hecuba stood beside him, the same look gracing her features. Behind the two stood Andromache, Astyanax in her arms, and Helen, wringing her hands nervously as she searched the crowd for her child. Paris stood by her side, his arms wrapped around her comfortingly. His eyes met with Hector's, a hopeful gaze in his eyes, but it disappeared in a split second when Hector shook his head.

Removing herself from Paris's embrace, Helen descended the steps and stopped in front of Hector. Her gait was slow and nervous, like she was already expecting the worse. Shaking, she turned her head to look up at Hector, tears streaming down her face. "Where is Panthea?" Her voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke.

Hector had never hated himself as much as he did in that moment. He would give anything not to be himself as he stood in front of the Spartan Queen, now Trojan princess. Placing his rough hands on her shoulders, his dark eyes revealed what Helen dreaded so much. It was then that Helen transformed into a woman far opposite her quiet nature. She began screaming frantically, her hands clawing at Hector uncontrollably. The prince did nothing but take her furious onslaught, deeming her behavior suitable for his failure. Hit after hit, he took each beating, unwavering in his stance. After all, Helen was so tiny she could do no serious damage.

Continuously hitting her fists against Hector's chest, Helen cried, "You have no idea what will happen now. She'll be married off to the highest bidder like a piece of cattle. Agamemnon doesn't want her, he wants Troy and she's just a piece of the puzzle. She's the reason why Achilles came. She's the reason you have made an enemy out of the greatest warrior of Greece."

Finally, Helen collapsed in a broken heap at the feet of Hector, her cries echoing throughout the courtyard. Hector merely watched, his eyes clouding with sympathy for Helen and anger for himself. Paris collected Helen quickly, cradling her in his arms and taking her back to their chambers. Locking eyes with Priam, the king of Troy revealed nothing. His face remained blank and unreadable. However, his wise blue reflected that of discontent. Hecuba merely cast Hector a saddened look. Priam put too much pressure on her eldest son. It was not his fault Panthea had slipped through his fingers, through all their grasps. Turning around, Priam guided Hecuba back inside the palace, the Trojan court members following in his wake.

Andromache remained behind, Astyanax still asleep in her arms. He looked so peaceful, so unaware of the chaos surrounding them. Nearing her husband, Andromache looked distressed at the situation. Reaching her hand out, she caressed his cheek gently, scanning his body for any fatal injuries. There were no cuts, no bruises, only blood and sand smeared on his body. She was used to the sight. When your husband was a Prince of Troy and a soldier, one got used to war.

"It's not your fault, its mine." Hector's face creased up in confusion as he scrutinized Andromache's words. Andromache shook her head, hot tears of shame dripping from her eyes. "I thought she was going to Helen, but she misled me. She escaped the palace instead." She gave out a small laugh. "She's very good at lying. I didn't even notice until I saw her sword was missing."

Taking Andromache in his arms, Hector held her to his chest, careful not to squish Astyanax who lay between them. "You should not blame yourself. Panthea chose what she wanted to do. She saved Briseis, but decided to return with the Greeks back to camp. She'll come back, eventually. She'll find her way back to Helen." _And hopefully back to me_ he thought. Hector knew what he thought was wrong, but he couldn't help himself. Andromache even seemed to see through his words, studying her husband's face. The couple then preceded to return to their rooms, both hoping for Panthea's safe return.

* * *

The Dardanian ships were reaching shore now, many hoisting gangplanks over the railing and onto the sandy beach below. Hundreds of soldiers line the shore, many of them chanting for Achilles as he makes his way down the beach and towards his camp. Panthea is glued to his side, his arm wrapped around her tightly as if he were afraid she would be dragged away and taken from him again. He is covered in grim, but Panthea does not care. She welcomes his touch and does not shirk away. The pair heads towards his tent, Achilles pressing a firm kiss to her forward. His face is that of triumph and pride.

"Achilles." Behind the couple, Ajax appears, his bare chest glinting in the sun as sweat drips down him. Scars litter his body, some recent, others several years old. One even lay across his eye, which would have been taken if he had not turned his face in time. Panthea grimaces at the sight of the battered warrior, comparing him to the golden Achilles. Achilles' skin appeared more golden with the light shining off his armor, making him appear even more god-like. His eyes were sharp, a sliver of silver slipping out behind the blazing blue. His grip tightened around Panthea unconsciously, shielding her from the other warrior.

"Ajax," Achilles responds distracted. All he wanted to do was get Panthea back to his tent so they could be alone.

"You're as fearless as the gods. I'm honored to go to war with you." Ajax tries to make conversation with Achilles, tries to gain him as an ally, but Achilles paid no attention. He only responded to get Ajax off his back. Ajax peers curiously over at Panthea, wondering where she had come from.

"As am I." The two warriors grasp each other's arms in respect before heading in their separate directions. Ajax separated from the pair, casting a look over his shoulder. He knew it was Panthea, her white-blond hair making her stand out like sore thumb. Ajax had heard stories of Panthea, but had never seen her for himself. She was a beauty, that much was apparent, and if she had caught the eye of Achilles, she was deemed worthy of the attention of kings and princes. He headed towards his own encampment to wash before alerting Menelaus of his daughter's presence.

"If you sailed slower, the war would be over." There is sarcasm in Achilles' voice as he spots Odysseus walking past them.

"I'll miss the start as long as I'm here at the end." Odysseus smiles sheepishly at Achilles before studying Panthea over. "Ahhh…I see you found your prize." He winks at Panthea who blushes at the comment. Achilles lets out a hearty laugh at his friend's words, pulling Panthea closer as they continue onward.

Trudging through the hot sand, Achilles paid no mind to the annoying substance while Panthea hissed in pain. No matter how many times her parents had taken her to the beach, she never got used to the sand. It was rough, coarse, changed temperatures throughout the day depending on the sun, and Panthea never learned to enjoy the feeling of it beneath her toes. Hearing her discomfort, Achilles suddenly lifted her up into his arms, making Panthea gasp in surprise. She gave a little giggle while Achilles spared her a cheeky grin. Panthea swatted at him in annoyance as well as humor. The pair attracted a lot of soldiers' attention, all perplexed at the behavior of the Achilles. He silenced them all with a deadly glare, promising he would end them with a stroke of his sword or with the bare grip of his hands.

The Myrmidons were setting up camp a few hundred feet away, their ship being unloaded. Food, horses, military equipment, and more were scattered across the shore, Eudorus monitoring the process. Achilles' tent had already been erected as he was their master and king. Patroclus could be seen sulking on one of the many benches set up around a temporary fire, sharpening his sword rather roughly. His anger at Achilles had not deterred, but seeing the approaching couple, his darkened demeanor turned to one of shock when he spotted Panthea encased in his cousin's arms.

Of course, Achilles did not blink an eye at his cousin's expression. He continued past Patroclus as well as his men, flipping the flap of his tent open and placing Panthea on the ground in front of him. She stumbled for a moment, her arms wrapping around his neck to balance herself. They were in such a close proximity that Panthea could hear Achilles' rhythmic heartbeat and feel his breath on her face. Before she knew it, Achilles was pushing her further into the tent, her back hitting against a wash basin Eudorus had ordered the Myrmidons to set up. It echoed throughout the tent and startled Panthea for a second as she took in her bearings. Achilles was unfazed, nonchalantly discarding his armor and letting it fall gently onto the sand. Only his chiton remained on, breaching the line between decency and inappropriate. His naked chest was on display for Panthea's eyes alone, or at least that's what she thought.

Running her hands along the smooth contour of Achilles' chest, Panthea's eyes take in everything, every scar, every cut, every bruise, every bump. Her hands felt hot and clammy, but she came to the realization it was the sweat and heat coming off Achilles' body. Reaching behind her, she dipped a piece of cloth into the water basin and began to rub the material along Achille's chest, trying to clean the dirt and grime off his body. She kept her blue orbs fixed on Achilles' the entire time, making sure nothing was left behind. Achilles' enjoyed the gesture, baring his weight in both arms which rested on either side of Panthea against the wooden table the basin had placed on. Even though he was leaning slightly forward, he still towered over the Spartan princess. A purring sound could be heard coming from his throat, a deep and rich sound that sent tingles down Panthea's spine. A voluntary shiver made its way down her spine, catching the attention of the warrior in front of her.

Achilles' blue spheres began to darken immediately at Panthea's movements. He was attempting to control his being, determined to keep the beast chained inside, but she had broken his resolve with just that one movement. A sudden growl erupted from his chest as he brusquely pressed his lips against Panthea's, standing up to his full height as his hands gripped Panthea's hips tightly. His hands ran lower, drifting to her round bottom and squeezing gently. Panthea gasped into the kiss, giving Achilles' the opportunity to insert his tongue into the warm caverns of her mouth. He left no room for protest as he asserted his dominance immediately.

There was passion in Achilles' brutish actions as he preceded to lift Panthea unto the wooden table, knocking the water basin off and onto the sand, forgotten. Panthea's peplos began to gather upwards, Achilles pushing it further up her body until it reached her waist. Panthea's legs opened willingly and Achilles stepped further into her form while her hands reached and grabbed the nape of Achille's neck tightly, pulling at the blonde hairs, and making the lion within Achilles' growl. Achille's calloused paws were inching their way higher and higher up Panthea's legs, wrapping firmly around the smooth flesh. There were small bruises forming from Achille's intense grip, but Panthea did not care. All that mattered was the feeling of Achilles' touch on her willing body.

Panthea then brazenly undid the pins holding up her black peplos, letting the already thin material fall to the floor and reveal her round globes to Achilles' ravenous gaze. Changing his plans, he began to feast on Panthea's breasts instead, palming one while the other he latched onto with his mouth. Panthea let out a load moan, pushing his head further against her chest as he nibbled and bit the silky skin beneath his mouth. He lapped at her vigorously, taking his time as he inspected each inch of her chest. Releasing his grip, he switched breasts, showing each piece of flesh the attention it needed to satisfy Panthea.

Once the voracious lion had his fill of Panthea's mounds, he made a trail with his mouth back up her body, over her collarbone, her throat, her jaw, and finally back to her plump lips where he placed a searing kiss. Panthea whimpered at the contact and began to run her hands down from his neck and onto the planes of his chest, her hands enjoying the warmth beneath. That's when Achilles started to be much rougher than before, his hands returning to their position on Panthea's legs while his mouth forcefully sucked at her throat before biting down gently. He began thrusting against her body, jerking her body back and forth against his own. Panthea could barely retain her balance as her body was yanked and tugged for Achilles' pleasure. She welcomed the force, basking in the attention of the great Achilles.

Inching his hands forward under Panthea's bunched up peplos, one went to grab at her backside while the other edged towards her forbidden area. Panthea tensed up when realizing what Achilles was doing, but the warrior calmed her with his coos and sounds of assurance. His fingers rubbed her inner right thigh before tracing lightly over her slick folds. Panthea let out a shallow breath, making Achilles smirk deviously. Up and down Achilles lightly drew his fingers, letting Panthea get used to the feeling. It was different from last time. Instead of hesitating, Panthea enjoyed Achilles' touch, mewling as he expertly toyed with her bud. Her hips jerked upwards, Achilles squeezing her tight bottom as her core rubbed against his hand.

"Please," Panthea whispered into Achilles' ear, making the golden warrior groan into her neck. He gave in to her request, his large finger sliding into her opening. Her hips bucked up again, Achilles sliding in further. He gave her no time to adjust as his finger slid in and out of her easily, her core already wet. She moaned as Achilles' movements became faster and more animalistic. She could hear how slick she was, causing her cheeks to burn, but Achilles' calmed her fears

"So, beautiful," Achilles crooned huskily into her ear. "So, tight, so wet, and all for me." He added another finger, surprising Panthea as she tried to accustom herself to the new, uncomfortable feeling. It hurt and she let Achilles know as she gently tried to pry his hand away.

"Just one," Panthea urged. "It hurts." That halted Achilles' actions immediately as he removed his hand from her core entirely, pulling her peplos over her knees. Panthea was confused when she saw the worried glint in Achilles' orbs as well as the way he moved his hands to her knees and examined her body as if he had seriously injured her. "It's alright." Panthea reached her hand out to stroke his cheek, surprised that the great Achilles appeared to have a vulnerable side when it came to her. "I'm not hurt. I promise."

Achilles still wavered, not believing what Panthea had told him. Not until Panthea reached forward to untie his chiton did he believe everything was well between them. That's when the air between them became serious. Panthea tried to avert her eyes, but the temptation was too much. She had heard stories of what lie between a man's legs though she pretended to not be interested. She had seen glimpses before, when she was little and one of her distant cousins had decided to bed her mother's handmaiden. Now seeing it up close and on the verge of womanhood, it was completely different. It was big, bigger than most men she decided. She only spared a look at it for a second, before returning her eyes back to Achilles' features. From the looks of it, he was pleased by her reaction and reached forward to cradle her head with his large hands, pressing yet another passionate kiss to her now chapped lips.

It didn't matter that Achilles was entirely naked in front of Panthea and he knew it. Assured of her comfortableness around him, he pushed her legs wider apart as they had been closed previously. He practically broke them with the amount of force he used pulling them apart and then pressing himself forward to wrap her legs around his waist. A pool of heat settled between both Panthea and Achilles' legs as her core and his length pressed together. Only the thin material of Panthea's peplos remained, which Achilles removed instantly.

A strangled sort of cry was ripped from Panthea's throat while Achilles growled possessively at the contact. He began to rub against her desperately, careful not to enter her. Panthea didn't give him consent for that and he knew she would never forgive him if she wasn't ready. He would wait for her, wait a thousand years if he had to just to take her as his own. Of course, Panthea would say marriage was the answer and Achilles would agree. He would marry her, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone but Panthea. She was the only woman he had ever considered spending forever with. Both persons' hips lurched forward eagerly, skin against skin. The friction between them was delicious.

Throbbing was all Panthea could feel between her legs. It hurt, but it felt good at the same time. She didn't know anything like that could be possible. She felt something else as well, something recognizable and she urged her body forward as it crept up on her. Achilles knew what it was and he caressed her core with his manhood faster as he held himself back. Panthea flew, moaning out Achilles' name as she climaxed beautifully for him. A few more strokes and Achilles followed, his low groaning echoing in her ear. All was silent between the two as they held each other close.

Suddenly, a movement was heard at the back of the tent. Panthea didn't notice, but Achilles sharp eyes caught the culprit immediately, cursing silently in his head. He had forgotten he had brought the woman with him, his whore. He rarely used her, only when he absolutely needed to relive himself. She stood silently, her eyes having widened at the scene in front of her. She was pretty to look at with her black hair, silver bluish eyes, thick legs, and a busty chest, but that was the end of her appeal. She wasn't opinionated, she was compliant. She never spoke her mind, only followed orders. All the Myrmidons had her at least once and now Achilles was using her to fight off his sexual rage against Panthea. Gesturing with his head, she departed quickly, careful not to make another sound or else she would surely be punished. Exiting under the tent at a back flap, she disappeared. Sooner or later, Achilles' would have to admit his crime to Panthea, but for now he relished in the way the Spartan princess spoke to him, three words that held such a significant meaning.

"I… I love you," Panthea murmured. That was all Achilles' needed. He would marry her, damn Agamemnon if he denied them. Menelaus surely wouldn't. He didn't say the words back, no man was every that sentimental, but Panthea understood that his actions reflected his words. He embraced her tighter, kissing her forehead lovingly. The pride of Aphrodite shined down on the two lovers as they basked in the aftermath of their love.

The moment was soon ruined by Eudorus who entered Achilles' tent cautiously. Panthea covered herself up while Achilles basically paraded around naked in front of his right-hand man. "My lord. Agamemnon requests your presence. The kings are gathering to celebrate the victory." Achilles rolled his eyes at Eudorus' words before commending his comrade's fighting skills that day.

"You fought well today." Achilles spoke proudly of Eudorus while washing off the remaining dirt and slipping on a clean chiton.

"My lord." Eudorus nodded his head respectfully at his lord before departing.

Turning back to Panthea, Achilles studied her features before returning to dressing in his armor. "You should stay here while I speak with your uncle. I'll bring you to your father after." Panthea nodded at his words, understanding that whenever Agamemnon and Achilles spoke, it turned into an argument. There was also another reason, but Achilles would not tell her. Agamemnon could use her as leverage against him and maybe engage her to someone else to make him fight for his cause. Over his dead body would that ever happen. Putting the finishing touches on his outfit, Achille strapped his trusty sword to his side before striding towards Panthea and giving her one last kiss.

* * *

Two guards stand watch at the entrance to Agamemnon's domain. Both men send Achilles looks of fear as he saunters past them and into the tent unannounced. He walks in on an embarrassing scene of other kings of Greece groveling to Agamemnon. Achilles makes a disgusted look, catching Odysseus making the same expression.

The tent was filled with various gifts from the other kings under Agamemnon's control, some of their own volition while others were forced to give up their prized possessions to satisfy the selfish king. Menelaus, Odysseus, and several others stand to the side, some wide awake and watching the spectacle while others looked bored. Sitting in his ruby and gold inlaid chair, Agamemnon sat at the head of the group surrounded by his spoils.

Triopas, the King of Thessaly who Agamemnon had recently battled, kneels before the greedy king. "You have won a great victory, my king of kings. No one thought the Trojan beach could be captured so easily." He hands Agamemnon a golden dagger, probably a family heirloom that had been passed on for generations.

"A beautiful gift, Triopas. You will be among the first to walk in the streets of Troy tomorrow." Leaning against the mast of the ship/tent, Achilles rolls his eyes at Agamemnon's words, locking eyes with Odysseus who does the same. The two men smile knowingly at one another.

Next to bow is Nestor, king of the Pylians. "My father, Neleus, had this urn made to commemorate his victory at Cyparisseis. I present it to you. . . . . .in honor of an even more memorable victory." Nestor is the only king who truly respects Agamemnon due to their lifelong friendship and long-standing alliance.

"Thank you, old friend. Tomorrow, we'll eat supper in the gardens of Troy." Agamemnon leans over and pats Nestor's shoulder in comradery. Spotting Achilles, his demeanor changes immediately. His face is that of annoyance as he waves the other kings away.

"Leave us." The broad smile has disappeared on Agamemnon's face as Achilles stares at him defiantly. He was the only king not to completely submit to the selfish Agamemnon's iron fist.

Odysseus is the only man to approach Achilles and appear as fed up with Agamemnon's attitude. He speaks to Achilles out of earshot of the other men. "War is young men dying and old men talking. You know this. Ignore the politics," he says in a humorous tone. He pats Achilles shoulder before departing.

Only the guards remain in the room, silent as Achilles and Agamemnon both stare at each other for several seconds. Achilles sizes up Agamemnon while the greedy king looks at the great warrior down his long nose in a snobby manner, sitting high and mighty on his throne. Achilles walks forward and onto the carpet Agamemnon had ordered to be laid in front of his chair, walking back and forth in front of Agamemnon, smirking tauntingly at the man. Agamemnon merely raises his eyebrows at him.

"Apparently, you won some great victory." Achilles voice is laced with sarcasm as he continues pacing in front of Agamemnon and eyes the many gifts surrounding the king.

"Perhaps you didn't notice. The Trojan beach belonged to Priam in the morning. It belongs to Agamemnon in the afternoon." Cockiness is evident in Agamemnon's voice.

"Have the beach. I didn't come here for sand."

"No. You came here because you want your name to last through the ages." Agamemnon's words are concise and right to the point. Achilles lets out a sigh as he closes his eyes. Agamemnon knew why he came. Achilles was a warrior after all. "A great victory was won today. But that victory is not yours. Kings did not kneel to Achilles. Kings did not pay homage to Achilles." Agamemnon is obviously trying to show his power over Achilles as he tries to take credit for the victory on the Trojan Beach. It does not slide past Achilles as he criticizes the Mycenean king's words.

"Perhaps the kings were too far behind to see. Soldiers won the battle." Achilles understands what it is like to fight for Agamemnon and receive no respect nor credit for his act against thousands of enemies. Soldiers laid down their lives for Agamemnon, but he did not care how many died for his cause. He did not see the value of life.

"History remembers kings! Not soldiers." Agamemnon rises from his chair, his voice rising in volume as well. He sounds like a spoiled child who receives all he desires. "Tomorrow, we'll batter down the gates of Troy. I'll build monuments on every island of Greece. I'll carve "Agamemnon" in the stone." His words are determined, but lack conviction. Troy had stood for thousands of years unconquered by enemies. Perhaps not all was possible.

"Be careful, king of kings. First, you need the victory." Achilles words hid the spot, angering Agamemnon even more. The Mycenean king takes a few steps closer to Achilles as he begins questioning him.

"Your men sacked the temple of Apollo, yes?"

"You want gold? Take it. It's my gift to honor your courage. Take what you wish." Achilles is confused by the question, but answers mockingly. All had seen him and the Myrmidons take the beach of Troy within minutes. He didn't understand the underlining meaning of Agamemnon's words.

"I already have." Agamemnon smirks at the mighty Achilles, making the mighty warrior second guess himself about what Agamemnon had meant. "Aphareus! Haemon!"

Panthea is dragged into the tent, kicking and screaming as her captives tighten their iron grip. "What is the meaning of this? I am a princess of Sparta. Unhand me you ruffians." Her voice is authoritative and filled with rage as they finally release her. She glares at them both defiantly and spits at their feet, a sign of total disrespect. She eyes Achilles and her uncle, looking between them for an answer as to why she was needed. Achilles scrutinizes her body for any bruises, but there are not. The soldiers could not hurt a princess or else they would face the consequences. However, Achilles' hand still hovers over the handle of his blade, ready to strike at any moment.

"It seems you think my niece is a spoil of war. Shame on you Achilles. She's much more than that." Agamemnon mocks Achilles, strutting towards Panthea like a peacock as he goes to embrace her.

"I'd watch what you say old man. She knows how to handle a sword just as well as I do." Glaring ardently at Agamemnon, Achilles begins to circle around the pair.

"Do not touch me," Panthea speaks boldly to her uncle. He shows disbelief at her behavior. "Men have died today for your voracity and egotism. You didn't come here for my mother or me, you came to destroy Troy and its people for no reasons except your own." Agamemnon's eyes are filled with rage as he stares at his defiant niece. Just as Menelaus enters to reunite with his daughter, a slap resounds throughout the room. A scream is elicited from Panthea's throat as she falls to the floor clutching her now red face. Agamemnon stands above her, satisfied with what he has done, his hand still outstretched after the action just performed.

Achilles is spurred into action immediately, lunging forward and pulling his sword from its sheath, pointing it directly at Agamemnon. He steps between Agamemnon and Panthea, looking over his shoulder as Menelaus goes to inspect the damage. Blood is trickling from her nose and dark bruise is forming under her eye from the brutal slap delivered by her uncle. His muscles tense is fury as ire ripples through his body. His eyes turn dark and animalistic, his blood lust returning. A growl rips through his chest as his sharp eyes glue Agamemnon to the floor. The king does not move, scared if he makes a move.

Menelaus can only struggle to contain his fury at his brother as he cradles his eldest daughter in his arms. He is shaking to the point that Panthea must remove herself from his arms and stand on her own. Menelaus remains kneeling in front of her, his sword hand twitching at his side. He stares up at his brother as a storm begins to fume within and raises himself to his full height. Agamemnon gulps nervously as he watches his brother warily. Panthea was the only obstacle in their relationship. Menelaus was doting and lenient on his daughter while Agamemnon tried to reign her in and control her whenever he could. Menelaus draws his sword as well, joining Achilles.

Achilles' eyes are merciless as he speaks. "Before my time is done, King of Kings, I will look down on your corpse and smile." He then lowers his sword and gestures towards Panthea who enters his arms immediately. She cries into his chest before he assesses her face by griping her chin firmly and raising her face upwards. He frowns at the sight, lightly tracing his fingers over her cheek. He presses a light kiss to her forehead, pulling her closer as he wraps his arms around her.

Agamemnon is too scared with fright to speak while Menelaus is overcome with shock, his sword falling from his hand and onto the floor. His eyes flutter between Achilles and Panthea as he tries to unravel the sight he sees in his head. He does not even stop the couple as they leave the tent, Panthea now settled firmly in Achilles arms as he carries her bridal style back to his camp, neither saying words of goodbye.

Menelaus turns to Agamemnon, disappointed with his brother. "If you ever touch my daughter again, I will not hesitate to withdrawal my troops and leave Troy behind. Helen be damned. I have no more use for her. And damn you. Just because I am your brother does not mean I will support you entirely. You cannot have everything brother. It may kill you in the end." He departs immediately after he speaks, picking up his sword as he hastily leaves his brother behind. The beginning of Agamemnon's descent from grace was beginning.

* * *

Closer towards the city of Troy, Greek soldiers are reinforcing the fortifications taken from the Trojans. Spikes are sharpened and pointed towards the city as they prepare for the upcoming battle. War was unavoidable and all had to be ready.

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 **A/N: Hope you like the chapter. This is more of an Achilles/Panthea chapter and the Greek reaction to the battle that has just occurred. Reviews are welcome!**


	13. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.**

 **A/N: Now we get the Trojan POV as well as the first official battle of the war! Hello to my new favs/followers: Kat272001 and Choking On A Dream.**

 **Response to guest: Thank you for reviewing! Yeah, I needed to put the interaction with Agamemnon for a better story plot and Briseis was not needed as I have a new idea. Hector will make up his mind this chapter and Andromache will help him! You are right that Panthea will not be given back so easily. Hope you like this new chapter!**

 **Response to Caitlin (Guest): Thank you for reviewing. Glad you enjoyed the chapter!**

 **Response to Anna (Guest): Here is my update! Thanks for reviewing!**

* * *

 **Ch. 12**

" _ **Why, pray, must the Argives needs fight the Trojans? What made the son of Atreus gather the host and bring them? Was it not for the sake of Helen? Are the sons of Atreus the only men in the world who love their wives? Any man of common right feeling will love and cherish her who is his own, as I this woman, with my whole heart"**_

 _ **~ Homer, The Iliad**_

* * *

The golden rays of the hot sun had vanished and gave way to the shimmering moon which rose over the city of Troy serenely, even after all that chaos that had occurred. It was few days after the Greeks had come to Troy. The dead had been recovered and funeral pyres lit. The opposing armies had a silent pact to recuperate and give the required mourning period to soldiers before fighting resumed. Many lives had been lost, soldiers slaughtered, and both armies needed to recover.

The Trojan meeting hall was crowded with nobles, generals, and priests as they sat around a decorative pool discussing the day's events. Torches lined the wall, a dark glow filtering on each person's face. Several marble statues littered with gold stood unmoving as they seemingly watched the discussions taking place. At the head of it all sat Priam on his throne, Paris and Hector sitting in their respective places beside him.

Glaucus, Priam's head general, stood from his chair and addressed the assembly authoritatively. "If they want a war, we'll give them a war." The men in the hall all clapped loudly and let out sounds of approval. "I'd match the best of Troy against the best of Greece any day."

However, there was opposition to his words. Velior, one of the many snotty noblemen, delivered his own speech saying, "The best of Greece outnumbers the best of Troy, two to one." Sounds of approval now changed to sounds of hesitance.

"Glaucus, you've fought with me for forty years. Can we win this war?" Priam questions, all eyes now on the King of Troy. Both princes turn to watch their father before looking to Glaucus for an answer.

"Our walls have never been breached. We have the finest archers in the world. And we have Hector. Yes, we can win." Glaucus says these words proudly, the other men applauding loudly as he finishes speaking. However, Hector grimaces at his words, tired of all the attention.

The high priest of Troy then rises from his seat, informing the group of his sightings that day. "I spoke to two farmers today. They saw an eagle flying with a serpent clutched in its talons. This is a sign from Apollo. We will win a great victory tomorrow."

Hector rolls his eyes at the priest, irritated with all the trust put in supernatural signs that made little sense. Wars were determined by the strength of soldiers, no bird signs. "Bird signs. You want to plan a strategy based on bird signs." He shakes his head in disbelief.

Priam rebukes his son for his behavior, disappointed he would show such blatant disrespect. "Hector, show respect. The high priest is a servant of the gods."

Hector responds with his own words of meaning. "And I am a servant of Troy." He halts for a minute to emphasize his words. "I've always honored the gods, Father. But today I fought a Greek who desecrated the statue of Apollo. Apollo didn't strike the man down. The gods won't fight this war for us." Paris looks to his older brother, appalled by what he has heard. He knows he must make a decision that would save his country and not himself in the end.

Paris suddenly stands from his position, surprising all present that the younger prince would speak. "There won't be a war." He stands in front of the assembly, determined and unselfish for the first time in his life. "This is not a conflict of nations. It is a dispute between two men. I don't want to see another Trojan die because of me." His words are wiser beyond his years, shocking many.

"Paris," Priam says firmly. He knows what his son will do, but he will not stand for it.

Paris ignores his father and faces him as he continues his speech. "Tomorrow morning, I will challenge Menelaus for the right to Helen. The winner will take her home. The loser will burn before nightfall." He looks to his father, ashamed of himself as he tried to make things right. He departs quickly, many giving him looks of remorse as he leaves. Hector shakes his head at his brother's words, his jaw tightening in anger. Paris had no idea what he was getting himself into.

* * *

In the gardens of Troy, the torch light flickers on the scene below. Vines cover walls, wondrous flowers are blooming, and a glorious fountain splashes beautifully. Priam had followed Paris into the garden and now they were having a conversation between father and son. Paris was revealing his feelings and thoughts to his father, knowing he could confide in him and not be judged harshly as the nobles of Troy did.

"Father." Paris hesitates as he speaks. "I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you." He hangs his head in shame.

"Do you love her?" Priam's voice is low and melodious as he questions his son. He understands the feelings of love. Paris welcomed them while Hector seemingly denied them.

"You are a great king because you love your country so much. Every blade of grass. Every grain of sand. Every rock in the river. You love all of Troy. That is the way I love Helen." The way Paris speaks mesmerizes Priam. He has never heard his son talk so passionately about anything in his life. They both stare at a statue of Aphrodite opposite where they are seated and contemplate her beauty.

Priam begins to speak, his words wise and understanding. "I've fought many wars in my time. Some were fought for land, some for power, some for glory. I suppose fighting for love makes more sense than all the rest. But I won't be the one fighting." His words relieve Paris as he now knows his father is on his side. A burden has been lifted because Priam does not blame him for taking Helen. He understands why he did it, for love. Priam loved Hecuba dearly. He even left her for previous wives. The king and prince of Troy were one in the same when it came to women. Pulling a sword from his side, Priam reveals his sword.

"The sword of Troy." Paris looks in awe at the family heirloom, his eyes shining as he stares at the family sword.

Priam thinks back on all the memories he has had with the sword, when he watched his father fight in battle, and the stories passed down for generations regarding the sword of Troy. "My father carried this sword, and his father before him, all the way back to the founding of Troy. The history of our people was written with this sword. Carry it with you tomorrow. The spirit of Troy is in that sword. So, long as a Trojan carries it, our people have a future." Priam holds out the handle of the blade to Paris who takes it eagerly. Paris' dark eyes scan the expertly carved blade as he contemplates its significance. He knows he carries the future of Troy in his hands and because of that, he would try not to disappoint his father tomorrow, even if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

Hector and Andromache sat silently next to each other as they gazed down at the peaceful face of their son as he slept in his cradle. Hector looked exhausted and struggled to stay awake as his wife watched him warily. "The man who killed Tecton outside Apollo's temple, I've never seen a spear thrown like that. An impossible throw." Hector's tone implies the abnormality of the situation as well as fear he possessed for Achilles. He wasn't sacred of Achilles necessarily, but scared for the death of his people and the harming of Panthea. Instead of keeping silent about the concept of war, he relayed all he saw. Andromache was not a normal wife. Hector entrusted in her many things that he should not. She was granted a privilege few women ever experienced. Hector respected her opinions and welcomed them gladly. He could tell her his fears, his joys, his experiences with war, and much more.

Hector reaches out to stroke Andromache's fine hair, but she prevents it from reaching its destination and instead grips it tightly in her hand and presses a kiss to his palm. "I don't want you to go tomorrow." Her voice is filled with desperation as she fears for the life of her husband. "I don't want you to go, but at the same time, I want you to find Panthea." Andromache's beautiful eyes were so filled with tears that she could barely see. "I fear something has happened to her, something dreadful."

"Do not cry my dear. Paris fights tomorrow, not me. And I doubt Panthea has been harmed. She is a daughter of Menelaus, a niece of Agamemnon. She will not be hurt if we see her. Menelaus will probably have her with him." Hope is what Hector is feeling, but at the same time, he wonders if Achilles still has her. He wonders if he has had his way with her. Hector scowls at the thought, turning to Andromache who knows he is concerned for Panthea just as much as he is.

"Fifty thousand Greeks didn't cross the sea to watch your brother fight. You know this. They didn't come here for Helen. The gods know she is not worthy of their coming. They came for Panthea and for Troy." As a woman, Andromache is very aware and erudite about the happenings of war and the position of women in them. Helen was just a woman, a beautiful woman, but she could easily be replaced. Panthea could not. Andromache could not find a replacement for Panthea, neither could Hector, nor Helen. Even Menelaus could not replace his daughter. She was a blessing, she was special, a gift from the gods.

"You'd make a fine general, my love." Hector strokes Andromache's cheek lovingly as tears stream down her face.

"You've been fighting your whole life. It hurts me to know you carry this burden with you. And now that Panthea has been taken, you will fight even harder for I know you feel guilty for her taking. It is just as much my fault as it is yours." Andromache's face is filled with shame. She knows that if maybe she had said she would go with Panthea, that the princess would have changed her mind and forgotten about escaping. Of course, Panthea had used visiting her mother as an excuse, but if Andromache had been firm about going with her, she would still reside within the palace walls.

"No, my love. It is not your fault. Neither of us can control what happened to her. Only the gods do. I could hardly take her from a band of Myrmidons who held their swords to my throat. She could have been injured or I killed, and there would be a mess of things. I don't know what the gods have in mind, but she may return to us." Hector's words comfort Andromache for she knows he is right. The gods control their fates. And in regard to his comment about the Myrmidons, she could not bear the thought of having lost him as he tried to rescue Panthea.

"I've seen the way you've watched her." Hector is caught off guard by his wife's statement and he panics for a moment before seeing the small smile on her face. "I do not mind Hector. She is quite lovely. And she is kind and loving. She is also a warrior." Hector cannot believe what his wife is saying. He stays silent as he ponders over what he has just heard.

"You know that I love you," Hector murmurs, trying to calm her fears if she has any. Andromache nods at his words and continues to smile.

"And you care for her." Andromache pauses for a moment, studying Hector's face as she continues. "Hector, I care for her too. She is like a sister to me and if you wish to act on those feelings if she returns, I will not be angry. I will not be angry if you decide to bring her into our marriage. In fact, I would welcome her with open arms. She would not try and manipulate you, try to tear us apart. She would bring us closer together."

"Andromache!" Hector exclaims, confused at what his wife is saying. She halts his words as she raises her hand up for him to be silent. He concedes to his wife's request, although quite hesitant.

"You know I cannot bear any more children. The physicians have all told me the truth. I am not sad, but blessed that I have given you your son. But Panthea could give you more sons, daughters, she could give both of us more children and I would not take away that joy from you." Andromache clasps their hands together, squeezing encouragingly. She knows Panthea would strengthen their relationship, though it would seem odd to others. Andromache loved Panthea as a sister and knew that Hector loved her, though he would not admit it yet, just as much as she did.

"Andromache I…I don't know what to say." Hector is truly at a loss for words.

"I don't want to lose you. I won't survive. Panthea won't either if you continue to fight. Fight until you see her and bring her back to Troy, back where she belongs so we can be a family. And then you can stop fighting and be content." Hector can only stare at Andromache before pulling her into a fierce embrace and kissing her. He puts everything into this kiss, all his emotions and thoughts about their past, present, and future. It is not rough and rushed, but sweet and caring as each explore the other's mouth. Whenever Hector bites his wife's lip, she returns the favor. Hector has his fingers digging into her waist, while Andromache's hands are buried in his dark curls. Andromache breaks the kiss only because she cannot breathe anymore. The couple rests their foreheads against each other, their hearts beating rapidly as one.

Hector then pulls away, his thoughts returning to what awaited him tomorrow. "I must see Paris." He then abruptly exits his chambers, leaving Panthea to watch their son in complete silence.

However, as Hector begins making his way towards Paris' chambers, a shadowed figure appears on the wall. Hector halts in his steps until the person comes into view. The questionable person is clothed in a dark cloak as the figure sneaks down the palace hall.

"Wait!" Hector exclaims, wishing to know the figure's identity. It could be an assassin, a servant, a woman. He gives chase as the person begins to run away. "Wait!" he calls out again as he hurries to catch the fugitive. Nearing the end of the corridor, the person suddenly turns into the palace gardens. Gaining on him or her, Hector reaches out to grasp the person's arm before pulling down the hood of the cloak. It is Helen. Her face is marred by the angry tears burning into her face. Her blue eyes are dull and shadows are evident beneath them. Her once bright gold hair is beginning to lose its shine. Panthea's capture as well as Paris' task has taken its toll on her.

Helen struggles against Hector as she tries to free herself from his iron grip. "Helen, what are you doing?" Hector questions her, but she refuses to answer.

"Let me go." Helen uses every ounce of strength as she hits her hands against Hector's chest to escape.

"No." Hector is fierce in his response, knowing it would do no good for her to leave Troy. Helen struggles again for a moment before giving up, leaning into Hector's arms as she begins to sob. Hector can only hold her and try to comfort her.

"I saw them burn. I saw them burning on the pyres. That's my fault. It is." Hector shakes his head at Helen's whispered words. Her crying stops, but tears still drip down her face. "You know it is. All those widows. I still hear them screaming. Their husbands died because I'm here and because I brought Panthea with me." Helen can only feel horrible at what pain she thinks she has caused. "I'm going down to the ships." She goes to turn around, but Hector does not let her go.

"No, you're not." Hector will not let Helen go.

"I'm giving myself back to Menelaus. I need to see Panthea." Helen is thinking irrationally, but Hector understands why.

"It's too late for that." Hector retains his harsh grip on Helen as he speaks. "Do you think Agamemnon cares about his brother's marriage? About Panthea? This is about power. Not love." Hector is trying to convince Helen that the war was not caused by her, it was caused by Agamemnon's greed. He just used Helen and Panthea's kidnapping as an excuse.

"Paris is going to fight in the morning?" Helen's voice lowers as she asks the question she dreads the most.

"Yes."

"Menelaus will kill him. I won't let that happen."

"It's his decision." As a man, Hector understood what it meant to want to fight for your country. Paris was just learning that and Helen could not deter his decision.

"No. I can't ask anyone to fight for me. I'm no longer Queen of Sparta." Helen has now stopped crying as her blue eyes connect with Hector's dark ones. Her face is that of resolve. She has finally realized the cost of war and it has pained her. She tries once again to leave and Hector stops her again.

"You're a princess of Troy now and my brother needs you tonight. You will see Panthea in the morning. I guarantee it." Helen is surprised by Hector's words. She thought he hated her, but apparently not. He had accepted her, unlike most of the Trojan court who saw her and her daughter's arrival as a bad omen. Finally, she nods in understanding and smiles at Hector for making her realize how foolish she was acting. She then leaves, Hector watching to make sure she wouldn't try and run again, just as Panthea had.

* * *

Thousands of soldiers line the beach as their commanders order them to battle. All are strapped in their heavy armor, helmets on their heads and weapons strapped to their bodies or placed in their hands. It is barely dawn, the sun just beginning to rise over the sea. The men talk quietly amongst each other, anticipating the battle. Meanwhile, the Myrmidon camp is completely silent as the men wait for Achilles' orders. Eudorus and Patroclus both enter Achilles' tent, fully armored and ready for battle.

"My lord." Eudorus' voice is loud and clear, yet Achilles does not bother to acknowledge him. "My lord, the army is marching." Eudorus repeats his words again, trying to gain Achilles' attention.

Achilles hears his man this time, but does not look up to speak to him. Instead, his undivided attention lies on Panthea who is sleeping restfully under the furs of the bed. The right side of her face is bruised, ugly shades of yellow and purple decorating the pale skin. Sweat covers her forehead as she had contracted a fever during the night. She was not used to the beach weather and her injury was taking a toll on her health. Kneeling next to her, he ran a cold cloth along her forehead as she let out a raspy breath and opened her eyes. She let a small smile grace her features as Achilles spoke. "Let them march. We stay." Achilles did not want to fight. He'd rather stay at Panthea's side as he had the entire night, holding her gently in his arms. He also had his dignity to think about.

"But the men are ready." Achilles turns to glare at Eudorus who gulps nervously, instantly regretting his words. Patroclus shuffles his feet in the sand uneasily, not liking the newly tense atmosphere.

"We stay till Agamemnon groans to have Achilles back. There will be no fighting until he apologizes for his actions towards Panthea." Achilles words are final with their commanding tone.

"As you wish." Eudorus does not try to dissuade his master and instead, bows and exits the tent, leaving Panthea and Patroclus alone with the golden warrior.

Achilles presses a kiss to Panthea's forehead as she begins to close her eyes to sleep again, leaving the men to talk with no interruption. Drawing his sword from its sheath, he balances the bronze blade in his hands before facing his cousin. "Are you ready to fight? Are you ready to kill? To take life?"

Patroclus hesitates in his response before speaking, watching as Achilles flips his blade and performs various movements with it. "I am."

Achilles reminisces as he speaks, frowning as he remembers all the bloodshed he has caused. "At night, I see their faces, all the men I've killed. They're standing there on the far bank of the River Styx. They're waiting for me. They say, "Welcome, brother."" Achilles then places his sword down, and grasps a chalice in his hand, drinking generously from it as he tries to drown out the anguish he is feeling. "We men are wretched things. I taught you how to fight, but I never taught you why to fight." Patroclus is still. He has never heard his cousin speak this way.

Patroclus merely stares at Achilles, thinking hard about what he should say to his cousin. "I fight for you." He means the words with every fiber of his being, showing Achilles his loyalty.

"Who will you fight for when I'm gone?" Achilles questions, raising his eyebrows. "Soldiers, they fight for kings they've never even met. They do what they're told, die when they're told to."

"Soldiers obey." Achilles shakes his head at Patroclus' words, disappointed with his answer.

"Don't waste your life following some fool's orders." Achilles turns to look at Panthea who should be asleep, but is watching with wide eyes. "Panthea wouldn't. She follows her own path, just as you should." His words make the princess blush as she is caught. He waves his hand, gesturing for Patroclus to leave. "Go." Patroclus listens to his cousin, his shoulders hunched over as he accepts defeat and exits.

"There's no reason to be so harsh to him," Panthea speaks as she strokes Achilles' golden arm nonchalantly. She scoots over on the makeshift bed to make room for Achilles who sits beside her.

"He needs to learn though. He should not obey. I do not obey. And you certainly do not follow orders." Achilles smirks at her as Panthea lightly hits his arm at his teasing. She giggles as he places both arms at either side of her head and delivers sloppy kisses to her collarbone. The furs fall, revealing her bare skin. Her peplos had shifted in the night and now rested at her hips.

Seeing this, Achilles hunger was awakened, his eyes turning dark as the joking stopped and a serious air settled around them. Panthea noticed this, her arms reaching for Achilles as he removed his chiton and settled over her. The army marched on, but Achilles and Panthea could no longer hear them, their hands caressing each other's bodies and their lips locked passionately. The war had been forgotten for the moment as their lust for one another took over.

* * *

Thousands of archers stand in formation along the high walls of Troy, their quivers filled with arrows and bows tightly strung as they prepare for battle. Priam sits under a grand canopy in the middle of the wall, a viewing area for him and his court. On the sandy field in front of them, a few thousand troops are arranged in their centurions, each man strapped in heavy armor and carrying sharpened weapons. What remains of the Apollonian guard rides in front of the troops, halting and dismounting their horses. Hector rides down the middle of the soldiers, just having exited the gates. Paris rides beside him as well as Glaucus, his father's most trusted general. They halt, waiting for the Greek army to appear.

Helen emerges from an archway opening on the wall's balcony area. Everyone is seated as they wait, Priam on his grand throne while Hecuba and Andromache both sit beside him, Astyanax in her arms. Helen passes by them, unnoticed she thinks. She is dressed in the traditional attire of a Trojan princess, a laurel crown on top of her head and a white peplos covering her body. She reaches the wall, placing her smooth hands over the hard rock and nervously running her hands over the material. She looks down on the troops, spotting Paris at the front.

Below the wall, all is silent except for the occasionally neigh of horses and the sound of the breeze running across the dry plain. On the horizon, there is nothing. There is no sign of life, only the roll of the ocean waves behind the hills of sand.

Hector turns to his younger brother, examining his face for signs of fear. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I started this war." Paris nods his head as he speaks, resolute in his decision to fight Menelaus. He turns his vision to the wall, scanning its top for Helen. She stands unmoving, looking for him as well. The wind blows through her golden hair and her eyes shine with love and fear as smiles at Paris. She knows he cannot see it, but she does it anyway. The couple stares at one another for a while, their feelings of love speaking between the silent connection. Paris breaks it first, turning back towards the horizon.

"Helen, sit with me." Priam's voice is both kind and commanding at the same time. Helen obeys, sitting beside Priam's throne on a miniature version of her own. A low rumble can be heard now, catching the attention of the people on the wall as well as the soldiers below. The princes' exchange nervous glances with one another as they watch the horizon intently now. The grumble becomes louder and louder, everyone watching now.

Priam sits erect in his chair, both hands braced on the arms of his throne as he takes in the thousands of Greek soldiers approaching the Trojan army. The sun glints off their bronze armor, making it hard to tell their exact amount. It didn't matter though. The Greek army more than tripled the entire Trojan army. Priam's eyes widen as he takes in everything. Below, Glaucus turns his head down, contemplating the fate of the Trojan army. Hector shakes his head, not believing what he is seeing with his eyes.

Death lurks in each mind of the Trojan soldiers as they take in the great numbers of their enemies. They do not shake in fear, but they are more than nervous as is told by the expressions on their faces.

Priam's face is unreadable as the Dardanian army nears. His wise blue eyes betray nothing. Andromache and Helen both stare in awe and fear at the scene before them. Hecuba is more like her husband with her lips pursed and blank face. She grasps her husband's hand tightly, knowing he needs her at that moment as much as she needs him. Troy was their home, their peoples' home and now they were being threatened by a massive army.

About a mile away from the ruckus, the Myrmidons have climbed a forgotten remnant of a previous wall of Troy, now having been withered by the elements. From that spot will they watch what is about to occur.

At the head of the Greek army ride the many kings in their chariots, Agamemnon at the head with Menelaus, Nestor, Ajax, Triopas, and Odysseus at his flanks.

"Prepare to halt! Prepare to halt! Halt!" A commander yells out orders across the field, all soldiers obeying and halting. The two armies are silent as they stare at one another, Neither makes a move.

Agamemnon then gestures with his hand for only the kings to continue. The Trojan princes and their generals make the same action, moving to meet the Greeks in the middle to converse with one another. All dismount at the same time, meeting at the same spot. The Trojan princes both hold stares of steel, but the Greek kings do not notice.

Agamemnon is the first to speak. "I see you're not hiding behind your high walls. Valiant of you. Ill-advised, but valiant." He surveys the Trojan troops intently.

"You come here uninvited. Go back to your ships and go home." Hector's words are concise and to the point. His tone is threatening and commands respect all in one. Agamemnon ignores him.

"We've come too far, Prince Hector."

"Prince? What prince? What son of a king would accept a man's hospitality, eat his food, drink his wine, then steal his wife and child in the middle of the night?" Menelaus interrupts his brother as he mocks both princes. His anger is evident.

"The sun was shining when they left you." Paris cannot hold his tongue and takes Menelaus's bait.

Menelaus suddenly unsheathes his sword, making Paris shrink back while Hector holds his hand over his own weapon, ready to strike if needed. "That may be so, but you kidnapped by daughter. Poisoned her. But now I have her back." He pauses or a moment as he stares at the walls of Troy. "However, she's up there, watching, isn't she? Good. I want her to watch you die." He gestures towards the wall with his blade as he talks of Helen. He scans the crowds, but cannot see his previous wife's face.

"Not yet, brother." Agamemnon slams his hand down on the sword, careful not to cut his hand as he urges his brother to put away his weapon. He now turns to Hector. "Look around you, Hector. I brought all the warriors of Greece to your shores." He gestures to the men behind him.

King Nestor then steps forward and pleads with Hector. "You can still save Troy, young prince."

Agamemnon interrupts him as he makes his proposal to the Trojan prince. "I have two wishes. If you grant them, no more of your people need die. First, you must give Helen back to my brother. Second, Troy must submit to my command to fight for me whenever I call."

Hector raises his head upwards in disbelief at the gull of Agamemnon. "You want me to look upon your army and tremble? Well, I see them. I see 50,000 men brought here to fight for one man's greed." His words strike Agamemnon to the core.

"Careful, boy. My mercy has limits." Agamemnon is practically gritting his teeth at Hector, his anger rising.

"And I've seen the limits of your mercy. And I tell you now, no son of Troy will ever submit to a foreign ruler." Hector's words are filled with the same intensity his dark eyes are carrying. He will never give up the independence of his people for a conqueror. His low voice conveys all.

Agamemnon steps forward, his words deadly. "Then every son of Troy shall die." His words are final. He will not repeat his proposal again. Turning away, he goes to return to his chariot and call for battle. However, Paris stops him.

All eyes turn to Paris as he speaks, startled at his outburst as the conclusion of the conversation was supposedly apparent. "There is another way. I love Helen. I won't give her up and neither will you. So let us fight our own battle. The winner takes Helen home, regardless if Panthea will be reunited with her or not." At the last part, he stares straight at Menelaus, trying to the guilt the man into considering his daughter for once. "And let that be the end of it." He is speaking to Agamemnon now as he tries to protect his country, unknowing that Agamemnon was a man of dishonor and would betray the bargain either way.

"A brave offer, but not enough." Agamemnon will not even consider the offer, but Menelaus does.

Menelaus grabs Agamemnon's shoulder firmly as he whispers into his ear, pleading with his brother. "Let me kill this little peacock."

"I didn't come here for your pretty wife. I came here for Troy." The Mycenean King is baffled by his brother's insistence, wanting to get the war started with so he could win Troy.

"I came for my honor. His every breath insults me. Let me kill him. When he's lying in the dust, signal to attack. You'll have your city. I'll have my revenge." Agamemnon finally considers the offer, nodding at his brother in acceptance. He understands Menelaus's emotions. He would feel the same way if his wife had been taken. Panthea on the other hand does not matter to him.

"So be it," mutters Agamemnon. He gives in to his brother.

"I accept your challenge. And tonight, I'll drink to your bones." Menelaus's voice is menacing as he stares into the depths of Paris's soul. The two groups separate, the Trojans heading towards the city walls and the Greeks to their troops. Menelaus goes back to his chariot, donning his helmet and grabbing his shield.

"Back to the line!" a commander yells at the Greek troops who were in position. They relax for the moment.

Meanwhile, Hector lectures his brother as he helps him with his armor, taking if from a soldier behind them. Menelaus stands waiting in the middle of the dry plains for Paris. "Make him swing and miss. He'll tire." Hector and Paris both size up Menelaus.

"Brother, if I fall, tell Helen…Tell her…" Paris dreads what may happen to him. He just wants to let Helen know that he loves her and that he was fighting for her love.

"I will," replies Hector as he nods his head.

Paris continues speaking, unconcerned with himself. "Don't let Menelaus hurt her. If he…" Hector interrupts him, grasping his arms tightly as he pulls his brother forward to face him.

Hector warns him of the distraction Helen is, saying "You think of your sword and his sword and nothing else." Paris shakes his head at his brother's words, trying to concentrate. That was the key to victory after all.

Paris places his silver helmet over his luscious curls, gulping nervously. Menelaus stands a few hundred feet away, carving through the air with his sharp blade as he waits forebodingly and impatiently. Hector hugs his brother lovingly before releasing him. Paris makes his way towards Menelaus, his hands shaking in fear as he nears his opponent. The two stare at each other for a moment, Menelaus a huge bulk of mass while Paris' lean figures shrinks in comparison. Paris draws his sword, now ready for battle.

Up on the walls of Troy, Helen lets in a deep breath as she watches her love. She lowers her eyes for a moment, not knowing if she can bare the sight, but she must watch. Panthea is also watching, though only some of the Greek soldiers have spotted her. She rides atop Apollis, her trusty stallion, as she makes her way to the front of the troops. She travels around the right flank of the army, the right side of the Trojan wall covering her advance. The soldiers stare at her in confusion, before realizing it is Menelaus' daughter. Achilles' is nowhere near her, having made his way to the Myrmidons after she feigned sleep again. He has no clue she is on the battlefield.

Paris breathes heavily as he faces Menelaus, his vision partially blocked by the nose guard of his helmet. He is panicking inside, but shows no evidence of it. Stepping cautiously towards Menelaus, Paris holds his sword out in a defensive stance. Menelaus chuckles and smirks at the young prince, throwing his shield across the field as he begins to attack mercilessly. Strike after strike, he aims for Paris. Paris too tries to lunge forward at Menelaus, but his arm misses widely.

Again, the two opponents meet, Paris ducking as Menelaus aims for his head. There is no grace in the Spartan's movements, only barbarity as he seeks to end Paris' life. Time after time, Menelaus hits his blade against Paris' sword until the prince is knocked from his feet, his helmet falling off his head. Paris is now defenseless in some ways.

"Get up. Come on," Hector speaks under his breath, urging his brother to continue to fight. On the opposite side of the field, Agamemnon is chuckling jokingly at the fight while Panthea nears the kings' chariots, now on foot with her sword strapped to her side. She had dismounted Apollis before she could be seen, one of the commanders holding him for her as she snuck closer to the battle. No one seemed to notice her nor cared she was there as they knew she was Menelaus's daughter. She grimaces as she watches Paris get pummeled by her father.

Paris lunges forward, parrying his blade with Menelaus and missing terribly. Menelaus takes the opportunity to swing his fist back and punch him in the face, blood now dripping from the prince's mouth. Paris goes for the kill again and the two adversaries are entangled for a second before Menelaus shoves him away. Stepping forward again, Paris tries another sword thrust, but his shield is violently grabbed from him and is thrown across the field. Now his shield and helmet are gone.

Unexperienced, Paris swings blindly at Menelaus who catches his wrist and tries to bury his sword in Paris' chest. However, Paris surprises him with a fist to the mouth. Menelaus moves away, spitting out blood. The smile has disappeared from his face. Grunting in anger, Menelaus delivers blow after blow, until the flesh of Paris' thigh has been cut open by his bronze blade. The Trojan yells out in pain and falls to the ground. He has never been injured this way before and it scares him.

Menelaus stalks forward menacingly, pointing to the sky with his blade. Paris tries to scurry away as he pushes himself towards the city through the sand. "See the crows? They never tasted prince before." Paris' face goes pale as he gazes at the open sky. Menelaus' mind games work as Paris forgets about the fight and decides he wants to live instead as he desperately stands on his feet and tries one more strike at Menelaus. His sword is knocked from his hand and he falls back into the sand.

Helen rushes forward on the balcony, her eyes filled with tears as she watches Paris crumble. Priam follows behind in a kinglier manner, no emotions shown. Hecuba and Andromache remain on their thrones, Hecuba trembling while her daughter-in-law tries to comfort her. Kneeling before Menelaus, Paris awaits his death as the giant prepares to sever his head from his body. As the blade is swung, Paris ducks and begins to crawl desperately towards his brother.

"Is this what you left me for?!" Menelaus yells, his arms wide open as he gestures towards Paris' cowardly display. "Is this the example you want for our daughter? A coward!? A man she could kill with her eyes closed!?" Panthea is within earshot now, frowning at her father's words. Odysseus spots her, but nods at her, a silent agreement between them as she stands beside him. "Fight! Fight me! You coward! Fight me! We have a pact!" Paris now shakes at his brother's side, on his knees and grasping him for aid.

"Fight! Fight him, son. Fight him," Priam mutters. Only Helen can hear him and she is appalled at the Trojan King. Priam cared for honor more than his son it seemed.

"Fight me!" Menelaus yells again.

Agamemnon climbs into his chariot when he realizes Paris will no longer fight. He begins yelling out commands. "The Trojans have violated the agreement! Prepare for battle!"

"This is not honor! This is not worthy of royalty! If he doesn't fight, Troy is doomed." Hector can only stare at Menelaus. He is the only thing standing between his brother and death.

"The fight is over." Hector is scrutinizing Menelaus, waiting for his next move. Panthea begins to creep up behind them, Agamemnon not noticing her presence as he talks to his generals. Everyone else sees her though, even Helen who cries out when she sees her child.

"The fight is not over. Stand back, Prince Hector. I'll kill him at your feet. I don't care." Menelaus is beyond angry now, ready to destroy the prince who stole his wife.

"He is my brother." Hector tries to reason with Menelaus, but it is no use. He goes to swing at Paris before he is caught off guard by his daughter throwing herself in front of Paris and clinging to his legs.

"Panthea, what in Zeus' name are you doing?" Menelaus questions his daughter furiously, his sword now hanging at his side. He goes to lift Panthea from her feet, but she does not move. Hector lets out a breath of relief. His brother's death has been delayed and Panthea seems unharmed by her time at the Greek camp.

"I beseech you father, do not kill this man. If you kill him then I know you have no mercy in your heart and the gods shall curse you for that. It is not his fault he took mama. The gods destined it to happen." Panthea's blue eyes shine are imploring her father to reconsider killing Paris. He did not deserve to die even if he was responsible for her kidnapping. Menelaus is silent, studying his daughter before looking back to Paris. The boy had dishonored him, but then again, the gods decided everything. His features show the debate within as he considers Panthea's words, his hand loosening on his sword and his face frowning. He is not as tense anymore.

"What is the meaning of this?" Behind them, Agamemnon is enraged at his niece. He sees Menelaus falter, his eyes landing heatedly on Panthea. "I am quite tired of you interrupting my plans girl," he spits at her.

Menelaus turns to his brother, his anger now pointed at him. He shields his daughter with his body, Panthea still kneeling on the ground beside Paris. "I am done brother." He throws his sword to the ground, eliciting many gasps from the Trojan and Greek armies. "My battle is done. You can have yours." He leans down to lift his daughter from the ground, carrying her across the field and placing her in his chariot. As Menelaus carries her, she peers over his shoulder at Hector who gives her a forlorn look. His hand is still placed over the hilt of his sword and his jaw tightens. He wishes he could just snatch her from Menelaus, but alas, she was safe and he would not risk Menelaus's rage. Father and daughter retreat from the battlefield, many of Menelaus's soldiers following behind. Apollis cantered behind his mistress, having freed himself from Agamemnon's commander. It was a humorous sight, watching a grand stallion such as that canter off a battlefield without a rider.

On the hill where the Myrmidons stand, Achilles appears silently behind them. Patroclus notices his cousin first, shrinking back at the expression on his face. Achilles is practically fuming, his hands shut tightly in fists as he watches what is happening below

Agamemnon cannot believe what he has heard, his mouth sputtering open and closing rapidly. It makes him look even more unappealing. His eyes narrow at his niece for a moment before turning to the Trojans. If Menelaus would not kill Paris, perhaps he could. Gesturing to his commander behind him, the bulk of a man throws a large spear at the young prince. The soldier hurls his spear at Paris, barely missing his leg in the process. Hector unsheathes his weapon, calling his men to attention. Agamemnon does the same and calls his men to battle.

The Greek soldiers charge towards the Trojan wall, yelling out loud war cries while the Trojan army remains silent and ready in their defensive stances. Hector aids Paris up from his feet as they hasten into the protection of the army. However, Paris jerks away from his brother and runs back towards the field as the Greek infantry nears.

Helen watches in horror as Panthea disappears, calling for her child. "Panthea," she yells over the walls of Troy, but her cries are met on deaf ears. When Paris runs towards the approaching Greek army, she cries out again, weeping profusely for her lover.

"Paris!" Hector calls out for his brother, wondering why his brother is engaging on a suicide mission towards the sea of chaos. Lunging forward, Paris glides across the sand to receive the sword of Troy, grunting in pain as he now has a burn across his leg. He stumbles to his feet and limps back towards Hector who is now galloping his horse towards his injured brother. He halts in front of him, pulling Paris up on to the horse next to him. The Trojan army parts for them as they both rush back to Troy, Hector leading Paris into the city before turning back to the battle. "Go! Get inside, Paris!" Hector yells to his brother. "Archers!" he calls to the men atop the walls. They all string their bows and prepare to shoot.

The Greek army is in a complete disarray, no organization amongst the formation of troops. They all charge at once towards the wall, coming into range of the archers.

"Our men are too close to the walls," Odysseus mutters to himself, realizing Agamemnon's mistake at letting his soldiers attack freely.

"Pull back, you fool!" Achilles is beyond irritated at the way the Mycenean King is handling things. He had hoped the other kings would try to reign in their men.

Hector now sits erect on his grand stallion amongst his men. "For Troy!" he yells, donning his helmet. The Greek army continues at full speed towards the Trojan city as thousands of arrows are released, hitting their targets. A second round of arrows are shot, imbedding themselves into throats, chest, shoulders, calves, and other various body parts. Many die on the spot, others cry in agony as their blood is slowly leaking from their bodies. Chaos has erupted among the Greek army, soldiers still pushing forward as their comrades in front of them are slaughtered. Rainstorms of arrows continue killing off the Greek infantry.

"Get them in line!" Achilles yells irritated, but no one can hear him so far away. He paces back and forth across the hill.

Odysseus has the same thoughts on the battlefield. "Get the men back into lines!"

"Front line, push!" Hector commands, the Trojan soldiers pushing against the Greek army with all their might and stabbing men with their spears in the process. They all let out loud hurrahs as they push, unleashing their strength on the Greeks as they attack with their blades.

In the middle of the battlefield, Ajax of Salamis surges forward, using his brute strength to kill every Trojan surrounding him. Seeing this Hector, rushes forward to defend his countrymen. He tries to launch his spear at the Greek but is slammed from his horse by Ajax's shield. The horse is even knocked over by the force. Rising to his feet quickly, Hector goes to attack. Only his sword protects him. Ajax lunges forward as well, swinging his ax at the prince's head. Hector ducks, but is still met with Ajax's fist. The two's weapons collide again, Hector missing as they step apart. Again, their weapons meet, this time Ajax wrapping his arms around Hector and pressing his hand into his back. Hector's arms are pinned over his head and behind his back, his sword forced from his fingers.

However, the prince does not give up, grasping Ajax's face and headbutting the man. The other warrior stumbles, taken aback by the gesture. This gives Hector time to grab another weapon, a large spear that he jabs at his opponent. Ajax swings his ax again, hitting the hilt against Hector's face. The brings falls onto the sand, distorted for a moment. He crawls across the ground, turning onto his back as he places a shield between him and his enemy. A spear also lies next to him, which he holds tightly. Ajax slams his ax onto the shield, breaking it in half. Hector then rises from the ground, shoving the broken shield off his body and plunging the spear into Ajax's stomach. The other warrior merely glances at the wound, spitting out blood and punching Hector. He breaks the shaft of the spear and hits it against Hector who stumbles. Reaching forward, Hector finds his abandoned sword and drives it in Ajax's chest. The soldier grunts in pain, but is still mobile, wrapping his hand around Hector's neck, trying to squeeze the life out of him. He is too late though as Hector continues to drive the sword in and out of his chest. The warrior falls to the ground dead, blood running profusely from the wounded areas. His eyelids droop for a moment before he lets out his last breath and dies. The Trojans around Hector let out cheers for their master while Andromache claps her hands from her position on the balcony.

The Myrmidons watch Ajax fall with disbelief in their eyes. One of their greatest warriors and one of the kings has fallen.

"Forward. Forward!" Agamemnon continues towards the walls of Troy, trying to maintain order of his troops. The driver of his chariot is struck dead by an arrow, making him steer the chariot by himself. Arrows continue to fall around him.

"Forward!" Hector commands his troops, the Trojan pushing forward against their enemies. The Greeks are in a total disarray.

"Apollonians! Now!" Glaucus shouts to the men. The Trojans continue to attack fiercely. "Prince Hector!" Glaucus rides up next to the prince, handing him a horse. The prince dismounts quickly, leading his men.

Meanwhile, Odysseus transfers himself into Agamemnon's chariot. "We need to retreat!" he urges. Agamemnon surveys the troops, not ready to give up.

"My army's never lost a battle yet!" Agamemnon conveys to the other king. His words are madness in Odysseus' eyes.

"You won't have an army if you don't fall back!" Odysseus basically screams at Agamemnon. He tries to get the Mycenean king to see reason.

"Back to the ships!" Agamemnon finally gives in.

"Back to the ships!" Odysseus repeats. The troops follow the chariots back to their encampment, willingly leaving the battle. Many of them trample over their own men in their eagerness to leave battle. As the Greeks retreat, the Trojans let out joyous cries and their troops give chase.

"Retreat! Go back! Back to the ships!" The cries continue for the Greeks to return to their encampments. The Trojans still follow, many unaware that the Dardanians archers were preparing now. The Trojans were falling into their range.

From his mounted position, Hector gallops across the field, warning his men of what they do not see. "Fall back! Men, fall back!" The archers loosen their arrow, many hitting shields, but not men. The Trojans are spared from death. "Halt! Halt!" Hector continues to inform his men, hoping they would heed his orders and not do something rash.

"But my prince, we have them on the run!" an Apollonian officer exclaims. His helmet is missing from his body and small scratches litter his face. He has a small wound to the side of his head, but nothing serious. The bloodlust of battle had taken over his body as he spoke to Hector, eager for war. Hector understood the feeling, but they were finished for the day. The Greeks had retreated and he would not risk his men's' lives.

Hector answers in a diplomatic way, showing the merciful side of the warrior. "We're in range of their archers. Have our men gather our fallen. Send an emissary to them. They can collect their dead."

"Would they have done the same for us?" questions the officer. Hector cannot answer. Instead, he directs his horse back to the city.

"Go!" Hector cries, heading for Troy. The Trojans follow their leader, cautious as they back away from the Greek archers. They line up in formation as commanded by their officer. The first official battle had been won, but much of the war was still to come.

* * *

Thousands of bodies are scattered on the sandy field, many of them unrecognizable due to their mangled body parts. Some had just been slaughtered brutally, others had been scavenged on my animals. A few were injured, having blended in with the dead soldiers. They were aided off the field, many unable to walk or still bleeding profusely from their wounds. The dead are thrown by the living onto mats which are dragged by horses to funeral pyres, which would be lit in honor of each soldier's defense of their country.

By the time the sun has sunk into the sea, all funeral pyres are being lit. Ajax lays on the highest one, having been a king. Golden coins are placed over his eyes so in the afterlife, he can be taken across the river Styx by the ferryman. It is completely silent on the beach as the Greeks mourn for their men. On the opposite side of the beach, the Trojans do the same, yet their funeral pyres are far less than their enemies.

Within the palace of Troy, Helen and Paris reside in their chambers, Helen tending to Paris' wound. She has changed from her court attire and into a more comfortable gown to attend to Paris. Paris has also changed from his armor, yet the blood and grime of battle still cover his body. He flinches as Helen stiches his leg wound, his eyes slightly watering at the pain.

"You think I'm a coward," Paris murmurs to his lover. Helen remains silent, concentrating on her work. "I am a coward." He seems to have resolved the matter in his mind. "I knew he would kill me. You were watching." Helen raises her head from her task to stare sympathetically at Paris. She did not think he was a coward. After all, he had never really seen battle before. Paris continues speaking lowly to her. "My father. My brother. All of Troy. Shame didn't matter. I gave up my pride, my honor, just to live." Helen shakes her head profusely at his words and leans forward towards her lover.

"For love," Helen whispers fiercely. She believes in love, what most people would think a silly fantasy. She believes in love with all her heart. "You challenged a great warrior. That took courage." She is proud of Paris, but he can barely see it as he continues to judge himself.

"I betrayed you. Panthea had more courage than me." Paris looks downcast as he speaks, further doubting himself. Panthea was the one who stopped Menelaus from killing him. She was more of a man than he was.

Helen leans forward, lovingly pressing her lips to Paris' shoulder. "Menelaus is a brave man. He lives for fighting. And every day I was with him, I wanted to walk into the sea and drown." She recounts all the years she has spent with Menelaus, cringing at the memories. "I don't want a hero, my love. I want a man I can grow old with. And Panthea, she is her father's daughter. Besides, she would never let him harm you. She may dislike you, but you don't deserve death my love. The gods will decide when that happens." Brushing the curls from Paris' forehead, she finally kisses him. Paris' pain drains away as he embraces the woman he loves, all thoughts of war gone for now.

* * *

Agamemnon leans back on his golden throne, exhausted from the day's events. He's sulking after what has happened, still angry with his brother for jolting him. They still hadn't spoken after he escorted Panthea from the field. Odysseus and Nestor are present, watching the king lose himself in his mind. "They're laughing at me in Troy. Drunk with victory!" In his hand is a chalice filled with wine. He drinks greedily, throwing it back into his throat before draining the cup. He motions for a servant boy to refill it before he drinks again and rises from his chair before pacing. "They think I'll sail home at first light."

"Maybe we should," Odysseus suggests, already tired with this war. If it was a massacre that day, what would it be like the next week? And the week after that? Death lingered around them and he did not like it.

"Flee? Like a whipped dog?" Agamemnon is outraged at such an answer/.

Odysseus replies, "The men believe we came here for Menelaus' wife. Won't be needing her anymore." There is humor in his voice and Agamemnon reddens at the tone.

"Menelaus gave up his wife. You saw that. We all saw it. It doesn't mean we don't have a reason to stay." Agamemnon stands his ground, not willing to leave Troy without his prize.

Nestor begins to lecture the two kings, his age and experience far measurable beyond theirs. "If we leave now, we lose all credibility. The Trojans can beat us so easily. How long before the Hittites invade?"

"If we stay, we stay here for the right reasons. To protect Greece, not your pride. Your private battle with Achilles is destroying us." Odysseus is begging Agamemnon to reconsider his reasoning for the war. The death of thousands of men was not worth his quarrel with Achilles.

"Achilles is one man," Agamemnon relates. He cannot see the true harm that could be done by the warrior.

"Hector is one man. Look what he did to us today." Odysseus is referring to the way Hector demolished Ajax, not easily, but strategically.

"Hector fights for his country! Achilles fights only for himself!" Agamemnon emphasizes the main difference between the two warriors, making Hector look patriotic and Achilles egotistical.

"I don't care about the man's allegiance. I care about his ability to win battles," says Odysseus. He wants to win the war and go home or not fight at all. Achilles is the deal breaker.

"He's right. The men's morale is weak." Nestor agrees with Odysseus.

"Well, even if I could make peace with Achilles, the man won't listen to me! He's as likely to spear me as to speak to me!" Agamemnon is practically afraid of the man, though he will not admit it. Every man feared him though, except for Odysseus and Panthea.

"I'll talk to him," Odysseus relays. He knows Achilles will listen even if he doesn't want to.

"He'll want the girl, Agamemnon. Give him your niece in marriage and he'll have to fight for you." Nestor thinks offering the girl would bring peace between the two men. Agamemnon shakes his head.

"He already does." Agamemnon's statement finalizes what all had been wondering. It was not Agamemnon's right to give Panthea to Achilles. She had already made that decision.

* * *

In the Myrmidon encampment, Achilles paces around the length of his tent, Panthea sitting at his feet as she absentmindedly draws in the sand. He was lecturing her on why she should have stayed in the tent and how she could have been hurt if Menelaus had struck before seeing her. She rolls her eyes at Achilles' words, making him livider than before.

"Do it again, I dare you," Achilles speaks vehemently, stopping in his steps as he glares down at her. Panthea merely smirks at the god-like Achilles, testing his limits. She sees no reason for why he should be upset with her. Instead, she found it fairly funny. He knew she could wield a sword, probably just as well as he could, though he wouldn't know. He had only seen her fight once, never against himself.

His patience running thin, Achilles yanks Panthea up from the ground, eliciting a yelp from her in the process. He tugs her forward, their noses barely touching. "Panthea, please listen to me." His steel eyes bore into her blue ones, urging her to be serious in the matter. She is taken aback by the pleading look in his eyes, placing her soft hand on his cheek.

"Why do you worry so much?" Panthea questions. "I know how to take care of myself."

"I am supposed to protect you and if you run off without me knowing, how am I supposed to do that?" Achilles answers her question, his anger now having disappeared. Panthea stares at the ground, digging her toes into the sand. She didn't really consider how he would feel when she was on the field.

"I'm sorry," Panthea murmurs softly, ashamed she had upset him now. Achilles tugs on one of her white curls, content she had realized what her faults were.

"I only worry because I care for you." Achilles words are sincere and truthful as he pulls her into his arms. As a man of few words, he is pleased with himself. Panthea snuggles into the embrace, wrapping her arms around his middle. Her head barely reaches his shoulder, showing the height and size difference between the couple. He chuckles as she struggles to bring her lips to his, leaning down to meet her. The kiss is short, but all the love the pair possesses for each other is within the kiss. Achilles tightens his grip around Panthea's waist, not wanting to let her go. He frowns for a moment, thinking of what would happen if she came across the woman he had brought to Troy. He would tell her, he vowed to himself, but not then. The moment was too special to be broken.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. It's the longest one yet!**


	14. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.**

 **A/N: Welcome to my new favs/followers: Choking On A Dream, kikibee22, NadiixD, and SamBam15. To all my readers, an fyi for this chapter. You may dislike me for a while, but I promise everything will work out in the end as it always does. This chapter is a test for Achilles and Panthea relationship which will be fully mended next chapter.**

 **Response to Percilla (guest): Haha loved your response. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Response to guest: Thank you for reviewing. Yeah, I know it seems odd, but many Greeks in historical times had several wives so it was normal then. Plus, she knows Hector likes Panthea so she doesn't want to seem like a jealous wife. Yes, she will always stand up for herself and her relationship with Achilles will be tested this chapter. Thanks for reviewing.**

 **Response to XO (guest): Thank you for reviewing. So glad you like my story! This chapter will not fix things, but will bring the truth forward and test Achilles' and Panthea's relationship.**

* * *

 **Ch. 13**

" _ **Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another."**_

 _ **~ Homer, The Iliad**_

* * *

Several weeks had passed since the first official battle of the war. Other skirmishes had taken place, more soldiers had died in vain, yet Achilles still did not participate. He remained in his tent, unmoving as reports were passed to him of the day's events. He was still determined to get Agamemnon to grovel on his hands and knees for his return.

Panthea visited him often, splitting her time between Achilles and Menelaus' areas of the camp. Marriage was proposed, but had not been finalized between the two great warriors. Menelaus was still wary of Achilles, just as any father would be concerned about the marriage of their daughter. Achilles was a great man, a warrior, a god in some people's eyes. However, there was a thought nagging him in the back of his mind. He knew Achilles had been a womanizer. He was a womanizer himself and he had paid for his misdeeds against his wife. She was with Paris now. Menelaus could not help, but feel Achilles was to make the same mistake as him.

Sitting on the beach beside his tent, Menelaus watches as dawn appears over the horizon. His face is grim as the stress of war has taken over. Agamemnon and he had still not made peace, yet he sent his troops every day to fight in the war if they chose to. He would not deter them from their glory. The men are still sleeping, their master the only one awake at that hour. Panthea was sleeping within Menelaus' tent, her eyelids fluttering as the morning sun filtered through the openings of the tent flap and onto her face. Menelaus watches with gentleness in his eyes, wishing Agamemnon had not brought them here for his greed. Panthea did not deserve to be here, stuck in a war camp with thousands of soldiers who looked at her like a piece of meat. Her name was the only thing that kept her safe. If she was not his daughter and the almost betrothed of Achilles, she would have been used for the men's' pleasure immediately. He cringed at the thought, feeling sick that mankind could do such a thing, sick that he had once been a young, lusty soldier who did do those things.

On the other side of the camp, Achilles is also awake, staring at the woman in his bed. His hands rake through his golden mane as he scans her body, making comparisons between her and Panthea. Panthea had the palest skin, the woman's skin was a tan color. Panthea's curls are a unique white-blond color while her opposite has straight black hair. The woman's eyes are sharp silver while Panthea's are a definite blue. The woman has a thicker substance to her, curves that most women envied, whereas his little warrior was blessed with an hourglass figure, no extra flesh and a lean body. Panthea was outspoken, gifted with a sword, and headstrong in all things. The whore was quiet, rarely raised her voice, and was compliant in all things. However, there was one main difference that stood out. Panthea had not complied to Achilles' sexual needs while his whore did everything he wanted without batting an eyelash. She practically worshipped him and begged him with those large eyes of hers to take her whenever Panthea was there. It bothered him to no end, but he still gave in.

Achilles was angered with himself, trying to breathe deeply and take control over himself. His biceps tightened as he continuously ran his fingers through his hair, practically ripping it out from the roots. Grabbing a chalice filled with wine, he drank heavily, trying to drown out the thoughts in his head. He needed to get out of their before he made the same mistake. He needed to get out of Troy. He abruptly rose from his position, lifting the flaps of the tent and stepping onto the sandy beach. The sun blinded his eyes for a moment before he became accustomed to it.

Spotting Eudorus, he makes his way towards the man who bows respectfully as he is approached. "Have the men start loading the ship. We're going home." Eudorus' eyes widen at his lord's words, but he says nothing and goes to tell the other Myrmidons of Achilles' orders. Meanwhile, Achilles has gone to sit with Odysseus who is lounging on one of the various rocks on the beach. He holds out his own cup which Achilles clinks against his own in greeting to his friend.

"You look exhausted my friend. What has happened? I know it can't be the strain of battle wearing down on you. You haven't even fought yet." Odysseus is genuinely concerned, but there is still a hint of humor in his voice. Achilles stays silent, drinking from his cup and staring out at the sea. How he wished he could be one of the seagulls flying over the waves or one of the fish swimming in the water. "Is it Panthea?" Odysseus questions, patting his friend on the shoulder.

Achilles shakes his head in response before speaking. "Do you miss your wife; do you miss Penelope?" There is an unrecognizable tone in Achilles' voice which Odysseus smiles at.

"Of course, I do. I always miss her." Odysseus cannot help, but miss his wife. She had just given birth to his son. Of course, he wanted to be with her, be with his family. War became more complicated when you had a family.

"What if you hurt her, unintentionally?" Achilles questions. Odysseus is shocked at the man's words. Achilles did have a heart for women after all.

"Well, I would do everything in my power to prove to her that I loved her and that I was sorry for my faults against her. Why?" Odysseus scrutinizes Achilles as the warrior continues to bare a blank expression on his face.

"Nothing. Never mind. What have you come here for? I know it just wasn't to make small talk like old women." Odysseus smirks at his friend's words, but then, he turns serious as he carries out the task Agamemnon had bestowed on him some months ago. He had previously tried to discuss the matter with Achilles, but the man would ignore him. Maybe this time he would listen instead of being stubborn and pigheaded.

"Agamemnon is a proud man. But he knows when he's made a mistake," Odysseus speaks. Achilles rolls his eyes at his friend's words. Odysseus would try and use his words to manipulate the warrior to comply with Agamemnon's wants.

"The man sends you to make his apologies? What are you doing in thrall to that pig of a king?" Achilles cannot contemplate how Odysseus continually submits himself to Agamemnon's rule and does his begging for him. It was disgusting and made Odysseus look like a common dog.

The wind blows gently through Odysseus' sandy brown hair as he contemplates his next words. "The world seems simple to you, my friend. But when you're a king, very few choices are simple. Ithaca cannot afford an enemy like Agamemnon." Odysseus was speaking like a true king, while Achilles still had much to learn from his inexperience. Yes, Achilles was a king, but his kingdom was not as known as Odysseus'. Besides, Achilles was a renown warrior, few would dare challenge him.

"Am I supposed to fear him?" Achilles raises his eyebrows as he speaks, his voice low. He would never fear such a laughable king. He sips generously from his chalice before turning his attention back to Odysseus.

"You don't fear anyone, that's your problem. Fear is useful." Odysseus pauses for a moment as his words sink in. "We need you back. Greece needs you," he pleads with Achilles.

"Greece got along fine before I was born and Greece will be Greece long after I'm dead," Achilles answers. He cares not for Greece, only for himself and his Myrmidons in this war.

"I'm not talking about the land. The men need you." The men are the most important thing in this war to Achilles. They look to Achilles for hope and without a hero to look up on, there was no morale and little cheer among the troops. "Stay, Achilles. You were born for this war." Odysseus trusts his words will work, for the men's sake, they have to convince Achilles of his worth in this war.

Achilles takes a long, hard look at Odysseus. "Things are less simple today."

"Women have a way of complicating things." Achilles smiles and turns to Odysseus, clasping his hand.

"Of all the kings of Greece, I respect you most." Achilles leans back, the tenseness gone from his body. "But in this war, you're a servant." Achilles would never submit himself to Agamemnon, even if it killed him.

"Sometimes you need to serve in order to lead. I hope you understand that one day." Odysseus speaks with such wisdom that even Achilles sometimes forgets the man is only five years older than him. Odysseus can be manipulative with words, but he can also be eloquent. He rises from his seat, patting Achilles once more on the back before returning to his men. The golden warrior watches as he leaves, Patroclus approaching.

Patroclus looks more than upset as he stands in front of his cousin. His forehead is creased in irritation, making him look several years older than his ripe age of 18. "We're going home?" he questions, appalled that his cousin wants to leave at such an imperative time.

"We sail in the morning," Achilles responds, unflinching at his cousin's reaction. His face is calm and relaxed, the complete opposite of Patroclus' heated face.

"Greeks are being slaughtered. We can't just sail away." Patroclus is determined to stay, even if his cousin disagrees.

"If it's fighting you still long for, there will always be another war." Achilles is irritated with Patroclus' "green" attitude. He knows nothing of war, nor the consequences. Rising from his seat, Achilles domineering being intimidates Patroclus, but that does not deter him from his speech.

"These are our countrymen. You betray all of Greece just to see Agamemnon fall." His words confirm what Achilles has feared: Patroclus is still not ready for war. Achilles does care for his countrymen, but he will not fight for an unworthy cause that could end up taking his men's lives.

"Someone has to lose." Achilles words are final and puts an end to the cousins' conversation as Achilles' stalks intensely into his tent. A rift has occurred in the Myrmidon camp.

* * *

Alone in her chambers, Helen stands on the balcony overlooking Troy, the soft breeze blowing through her golden waves. She watches the bustling of the city below, wishing she could be one of the common folk for just a moment in her life. Even though a war was going on, daily life still occurred in the city as if death was not already surrounding it. Troy still received emissaries from various other countries, joyous marriages were celebrated, the mourning at funerals occurred, the happy birth of a child was announced, business transactions were often, children still played in the streets, women still gossiped about the happenings of the court, everything was changed, but unchanged in a sense.

Paris has now fully recovered from the wound Menelaus delivered so brutally all that time ago. The stitches are no longer needed as the skin has healed, leaving a white scar. It is still painful to walk, but the couple takes small walks in the gardens daily so Paris can regain his strength. He is currently lounging on a chaise in their room, polishing the sword of Troy. He is so determined to redeem himself in battle when he is well enough that he certainly looks as if he is worshipping the weapon itself, hoping it will lead him in battle when the time comes.

Suddenly, a great eagle appears out of the sky and perches itself on the sill next to Helen. She does not move, even when its sends her a piercing look, as if it is almost human in the way it is studying her. It is somehow familiar to her and calms her tense nerves. Reaching out, her hand is shaking as she goes to pet the soft feathers of the majestic bird. It lets her, not screeching or biting her as her fingers run over the feathers. Somehow, she knows it is a sign from Zeus, her so-called father. Helen remembers the stories, how she and her sister were born from eggs. It was not true, but somehow she knew she was not Tyndareus' daughter. It was the way he looked at her, as if she had blessed him with her presence. Perhaps she was descended from the gods. After all, she was stroking an eagle, the symbol of Zeus.

The eagle remains silent and unmoving as Helen continues her task, paying close attention to the way the bird is fearless unlike so many other birds. Removing her hand, it falls silent at her side. She watches the eagle as it then ruffles its feathers and take off into the open, blue sky. Oh, how she wished she could fly like the bird, be free from all the chaos taking over her world. If she had the gift of flight could she not find her daughter and bring her back to Troy?

The thought alone makes Helen weep, for she missed Panthea dearly. Her daughter's birthday had come and passed, the most important age in a girl's life, for isn't sixteen the entrance into womanhood? Helen was already a mother by the age of sixteen, already declared a woman because of her status as a mother and a queen. Panthea was not married and now, Helen's poor child was stuck in a camp filled with brutal, hormonal men. If she was not married before the war, she would be married now for no one knew how long the Greeks would stay until Agamemnon either achieved his quest or failed miserably.

A knock at the door startles Helen and she looks over her shoulder to see Andromache in the doorway. To Helen, Andromache was a mousy looking woman. There were no qualities which stood out to her other than her humility and kindness. Helen of course was thankful for the woman's hospitality, but she envied her for the relationship she had formed with her daughter. Helen had not reconciled with Panthea yet and to have seen them acting so familiar with each other had made her blood boil. Paris does not move from his position, but smiles at his sister-in-law before focusing on his work, leaving Helen to talk to the woman.

"Is there something you have come here for, Andromache?" Helen is not rude, but her voice is monotone and bored, as if Andromache's presence is nothing special to her. The Trojan princess does not notice, but makes her way towards Helen to strike up a conversation.

"King Priam is sending out emissaries to bargain with the Greeks for Panthea's safe return. Now that he has seen she is unharmed, he would like to keep it that way and persuade Menelaus to return Panthea for safekeeping. Her place is not in that camp. There are little women there and they are not respectable." Andromache informs Helen of what Hector has told her. His endless hours of meetings are filled with political matters and war strategies that tire him constantly. He returns to their chambers exhausted, having been up at dawn to fight and not being able to relax until the stroke of midnight.

"He won't give her back." Helen turns her back on Andromache to gaze out on the city again, her hands holding the ledge of the balcony tightly. Andromache joins her, unacknowledging the woman's cold behavior. It does not deter her, but makes her want to reach out even more and comfort the once queen of Sparta.

"Perhaps he will. We can only hope the gods will favor our plea." Andromache smiles gently at Helen, trying to lighten her spirits.

"The only way Menelaus would return Panthea is if his life was at risk or if Agamemnon handed her over, both of which are unlikely scenarios." Helen's words are mocking as she addresses Andromache, tired of the woman's constant cheerfulness. Didn't she understand it was impossible for Panthea to return, unless she did so on her own?

Andromache then goes to place her hand over Helen's in a soothing manner, but the Spartan woman yanks her hand backward as if Andromache's touch is like a curse. "Please leave." Her icy tone shocks the other woman.

"But Helen..." Andromache murmurs.

"I said leave." The sharp look in Helen's eyes catches Andromache off guard. "You want my daughter back, but you know literally nothing about her. How long have you known her? A few months? And you think you have some type of claim over her? She's my daughter, not yours, so stop trying to be. It's not appropriate behavior for the future Queen of Troy."

Andromache delivered a harsh remark right back to Helen. "And your behavior was less than appropriate when you lay with another man when you were married." That caught Paris' attention immediately, halting his work as he looked at the two warring women. "I'll leave not because I want to, but because I know when I'm not wanted, even when I'm trying to help." Andromache turned swiftly on foot and exited the chamber, the slam of the door echoing through the room. Helen appeared as if she would burn the doors down with the raging fire in her usually cheery blue eyes.

Seeing Paris' sympathetic glance, Helen turns back to the city and tries to get her mind off the conversation her sister-in-law had started. She knew Paris was not mad at her, but was giving her space to cool off. She did not like pitiful looks being thrown at her. Paris knew this and did not crush her with affection as some would think. Instead of dwelling on the matter, Helen looked out onto the horizon, wondering what Panthea was doing at that moment.

* * *

Barefoot, Panthea makes her way through the hot sand on the Trojan beach, the train of her peplos dragging behind her. Her father's guards followed behind her, armed to protect their master's heir. One of them carried her sandals in their hands, the other grinning cheekily at him. Both were of young age, eager for battle, and eager to please their king. To Panthea, they were barely men, but they did provide some entertainment for her when she trained. They were in awe of her skill with a sword and learned from the princess herself.

Trudging through the camp, Panthea passes her uncle, neither stopping to acknowledge him or bow as he passed with Nestor. Agamemnon ignored the gesture, continuing his way to survey the troops after battle that day. Nestor nodded his head to the princess, appalled at his comrade's childish behavior. Each group carried on in their separate directions, the king to his men and Panthea to the Myrmidons' part of camp.

Reaching her destination, Panthea smiled as she watched Patroclus spar with Eudorus. Achilles was nowhere in sight which was quite odd, but she did not question it. Perhaps he was in his tent polishing his weapons as he often did when she visited. She watched for a moment, clapping when Eudorus disarmed Patroclus as he made an easy mistake in his footing. The two men had not noticed her until that moment and when Eudorus spotted her, his face turned pale. Patroclus looked as if someone had caught him stealing and stared at the ground, kicking the sand up with his feet.

"Panthea," Eudorus spoke, "I was not aware you were coming this morning." He looked nervous, his eyes darting back and forth between the princess and Achilles' tent. Panthea laughed at his words, wondering why he was acting so. "Perhaps you'd like to join us, knowing how much you'd like to spar with Patroclus." Panthea shook her head as a no.

"Perhaps later," Panthea answered, "I'd like to see Achilles. Is he here or is he with Lord Odysseus now?" Eudorus did not answer immediately, his throat dry. The sound of the waves crashing on the beach blocked out his words as he spoke and Panthea had to move closer to hear. However, his answer was again obstructed by another noise, a most familiar yet unwanted noise. Panthea's body spun towards the sound, of which had elicited itself from Achilles' tent. It was the same sound she had made a countless number of times in Achilles' arms. It frightened her as she walked closer, reaching her hand out to lift the tent flap.

"Panthea," Eudorus whispered. The Spartan princess turned her head towards the soldier, the expression of Eudorus' face revealing all. Patroclus couldn't even look at her, his back facing her and his front facing the ocean. He was ashamed of his cousin's actions when he found out about the deceit and now he was disappointed in himself for not having told Panthea the truth before she was hurt.

Taking in a deep breath of air, Panthea procured the courage to confront what she was about to see and entered the tent silently. Moving her body against the wall of the tent, neither of the occupants noticed when she went in. It took a few seconds before her eyes acclimated themselves to the dim lighting within, but when they did, she wished she had never seen what she did in that moment. The sight was so repulsive, it made her want to scream.

Before her, Achilles lay on his downy bed, a woman with black hair beneath him. He was settled between her thighs, licking a trail up the soft skin of her abdomen to the column of her throat. The woman beneath him gave out a small giggle as she rocked her hips up to meet his. She eyed him seductively as she reached between his own legs, making him groan against her shoulder. Roughly, he flipped her over onto her stomach and spread her legs apart as he leaned back on his haunches, aligning himself with her entrance. He delivered a rough smack to her bottom, the woman moaning beneath him, as he forcefully mounted her in one hard thrust. He gripped her thighs tightly as he thrust into her harshly, the woman trying to grip anything near her to hold on to as he continued his wild pace. Gentleness was not present as the animal within craved raw, rough sex. He pulled her hair firmly, making her yelp in pain as well as pleasure as he ground into her, his teeth gritting as he released inside her. He collapsed on top of the woman who was recovering from his brutal treatment of her as well as coming down from her own high.

Pushing off the bed, Achilles lay down on his back next to her as he sighed deeply in satisfaction. He had craved his release more than anything and called for the woman urgently for her services before he did something drastic when Panthea was near. Running his hands over his face in frustration, he turns his head to the side, opening his closed eyes when he hears crying.

Sitting up, Achilles is alarmed to see Panthea at the entrance of his domain, her eyes boring into his guilty ones. He is sparked into action immediately and goes to stand up quickly, but his nakedness prevents him from moving as he searches for his chiton to cover his body. He is panicking inside as he eyes dart around the room, looking for the single piece of clothing. His heart beats so loudly in his chest that he can barely hear himself think.

"Does she want to join?" the woman questions, not realizing what was occurring. She couldn't help it. She was submitted to a life of servitude, of prostitution, of subordination to men and she thought Panthea had been chained to the same life as herself. Achilles silences her with a single, severe look, making the woman gulp audible and cover herself, her eyes downcast.

Achilles spots the hidden garment, wrapping it around his waist frantically, his eyes never leaving Panthea. Her body is still pressed against the side of the tent, but she has sunk to her knees, shaking uncontrollably with hot tears trickling down her face. Achilles does not know whether to make his way towards her or remain where he is. His jaw is tense and his gaze is dark with emotions unknown as his licks his lips with nervousness. Hesitantly, he takes a step towards Panthea who abruptly rises from her position and holds an arm out in warning.

"No," Panthea cries, her hand trembling in devastation. Achilles does not listen and continues towards her, but Panthea backs away towards the exit of the tent.

"Panthea," Achilles speaks, "Please, listen to me." His tone is begging with her to listen to his plea. Panthea shakes her head, the tears clouding her eyes. She rushes from the tent, her feet tangling in her peplos and making her fall on the sand. She does not move, she is too overcome with grief. Her hands dig into the sand as her cries rack her body with anguish. The other Myrmidons all watch her with pity, knowing what she has discovered.

Achilles has followed Panthea out of the tent, viewing her breakdown as the other men have. He eyes them all, ordering them to return to their respective posts so he can solely focus on Panthea. Panthea's guards disappear as well, scared by the infamous warrior's stare. Guilt and shame are the main feelings traveling through his body as he stares at the broken woman in front of him. Eudorus and Patroclus are the only two that remain, Eudorus looking at Panthea with such morose while Patroclus glares heatedly at his cousin.

Reaching out, Achilles attempts to lift Panthea up from the ground and into his arms, but she slaps his hand away and glowers at him with such intensity that he halts his actions.

"Do not touch me," Panthea spits out from her gritted teeth. Her tone is deadly serious as she pushes herself off the ground, not minding that sand is covering her entire body. She is the epitome of brokenness. Her hair is tangled like a bird's nest, her eyes red and raw from crying, her body covered in dirt, her being shaken from betrayal. Achilles just stands their motionless, watching Panthea keenly for her next move.

"You're nothing, but a coward." Achilles is taken aback by the words, his eyebrows furrowing with bewilderment. "You're not a warrior or a god as many men perceive you. You're just a man and a coward at that for not telling me. Many say the truth will set you free and by the gods, what I have seen has prevented me from chaining myself to you for all eternity."

"Panthea." Achilles tries once more time to convince his little warrior to let him explain his actions, raising his hand to her arm in solace as he nears her being. She strikes him furiously across his perfectly chiseled face, a strong hit for such a small woman. His face remains turned to the side, a red mark appearing and besmirching his godly features. He deserved it, deep down in his heart he knew he did, though at that moment, he was only filled with anger at her behavior.

Yanking her forward, Achilles grips her wrists tightly in his hands, the beast within coming forth. Panthea is too frightened to anything. She neither struggles nor cries for help. Patroclus steps forward to protect her, but Achilles sends him a warning glance that makes him halt in his actions. Bringing his lips to Panthea's ear, he begins to whisper, "You will never hit me in front of my men again. Do you understand me?" Panthea remains silent, ignoring the question. He shakes her violently, making her cry even harder. "Do you understand me?" he asks again, practically yelling in her face. Panthea nods her head in answer before wrenching her body away from his being.

"I hate you," Panthea cries, rushing away from the king of the Myrmidons and back towards her father's camp. Her mother had been right and in the end and all she got was a broken heart, and a tainted body touched by man. With her arms wrapped around her, Panthea did not look back as she tramped back through the sand and away from the breaker of hearts.

Achilles stood there, a shattered man of his former self. He had caused his misery and now, Panthea seemed to be lost forever. With her disappearing from sight, he finally let a single tear fall down his face as he dropped to his knees. He was just like Icarus, he had flown too close to the sun, a sun of temptation and lust. He had burned and now he was going to the underworld for his faults. He had fallen, just as many warriors had. There stood Achilles, a fallen warrior, ruined by the champion of the gods.

* * *

The Trojan council sits in the meeting hall, the reflective pool separating two rows of men. The torch light flickers over each man's face, similar expressions of eagerness on all. The statues of the gods stand watch over the group, their reflections present in the reflective pool beneath their feet.

Priam's head priest speaks first. "The gods favor our cause. Now is the time to destroy the Greek army." Yells of agreement echo throughout the hall.

General Glaucus then stands and delivers a more convincing speech. "Their morale is battered. Hit them now. Hit them hard. And they will run." Now the Trojan men stand on their feet and clap as they cheer for the warrior's words.

Hector steps forward from his position next to his father's throne. His eyes are red and weary with exhaustion, his face covered in scars from the constant battles he endured. Priam watches his son as he walks to the edge of the reflective pool. "The Myrmidons didn't fight yesterday, they didn't fight the week before. They haven't fought since the beginning of this war. There must be dissension among the Greeks. But if we attack their ships, we will unify them." His voice is grave as he speaks, staring at each one of the men individually to convey his message. "If they decide to attack us, let them. Our walls can't be breached. We'll beat them back again." Some men nod their heads in agreement, others shake their head and disagree. Turning his back on the Trojan court, he turns to his father to consider his plea. "Yesterday, the Greeks underestimated us. We should not return the favor."

Priam stands from his throne, the decorative jewels around his neck and on his clothes shining brightly in the firelight. He never looked so kingly, his wise blue eyes staring through Hector and at his courtiers. "You're confident about the meaning of these omens?" he asks his head priest.

"The desecration of his temple angers Apollo. The gods have cursed the Greeks," replies the priest.

"Prepare the army. We attack at daybreak." Priam addresses Hector who widens his eyes in bewilderment. He cannot believe what his father has said. His father may have wanted to show his supremacy, but he was going about it the wrong way. Lives were at stake now, including his own, as he began to prepare the troops.

* * *

Blending in with the shadows, a woman made her way through Greek camp. Concealed beneath her cloak, she tiptoed through the sand and passed several guards who all nodded at her in respect. The only sound was waves crashing on the shore and the chirping of crickets as the Spartan princess made her way towards Odysseus' camp.

When Panthea reached her destination, two guards stood watch at the entrance to Odysseus' tent, both bowing to the princess. She did not wait to be announced, but instead entered the tent boldly. Odysseus did not seem surprised by her presence, barely batting an eyelash as he continued eating from a platter. The woman from earlier was waiting on him, blushing when she saw Panthea. She did not know how to act, especially because of the event that had occurred earlier. Odysseus dismissed her with a wave of his hand, the woman scurrying off before Panthea could verbally rip into her.

"So, are you sharing her now?" Panthea questioned. Odysseus did not answer. "Do you trade her with another for each other' pleasure?" The King of Ithaca merely sighed, rubbing his hand across his bearded jaw. He kept quiet for a moment, his grey eyes meeting Panthea's with pity. He rose from his position, walking towards Panthea and placing his large hands on her shoulders in comfort.

"I did not know either Panthea. We were both left in the dark." Panthea couldn't meet Odysseus' eyes now, ashamed of her rash behavior towards him. Placing a finger under her chin, Odysseus lifted her face to meet his.

"I promise you are not the only woman who has been betrayed in this way. I for one was very disloyal to my first wife, my wife before Penelope. She died very young from some unknown sickness. When she died, I felt as if my life had ended. She forgave me for all my wrongdoings against her because of the goodness in her heart, because she loved me." Odysseus paused for a moment, thinking of Melora, his first wife. They were both very young when they were married. She was devoted entirely to Odysseus while he dallied around with other women. She turned a blind eye to his affairs and always welcomed him back with open arms. Their marriage was brief, only three years, but in that time Odysseus grew to a man. "I learned that day she died that infidelity was one of the greatest sins I could possibly commit and so when I married Penelope, I took a vow to never lay with another for I would cherish her always. Achilles will learn this. I am sure of it." He pressed a kiss to Panthea's forehead and gave her a small smile, which she returned.

"Perhaps," Panthea stated. Odysseus nodded at her words.

"Now my dear princess, I think you should return to your father's quarters before he realizes you are missing." Odysseus' tone was humorous, bringing light to Panthea's once darkened features of anger. He bowed to her whilst Panthea turned back to the exit of the tent, sending him one last look before she disappeared into the night.

* * *

 **A/N: Some parts of this chapter do not add up to the movie as I changed these parts to fit my storyline better. Also, Odysseus did not have any other wife than Penelope. Some parts of the story are added to fit with what I write. Please review!**


	15. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.**

 **A/N: Double update! Bet I surprised you guys! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Ch. 14**

"… _ **There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover's whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad."**_

 _ **~ Homer, The Iliad**_

* * *

On Mount Olympus, Thetis stood before the mighty Zeus, pleading with him to help her son. She knew that the girl was his downfall, she had to be, for now he mourned and sulked around as if he was not a god, as if he was not a warrior, as if he was not her proud son that she had watched grow so beautifully for the past 30 years. In order to save him, she now sat in the god's lap.

Nearby, Hera leered at the pair, her hawk like eyes never leaving them. She knew what her rival was doing and Zeus was practically drooling as the woman presented herself willingly to the King of gods. Thetis stroked his beard lovingly while she fed him grapes from a golden plate in her own lap.

"Will you save my son?" Thetis asked, her legs rubbing against Zeus' seductively. He chuckled at her behavior.

"No one can be saved from a woman's clutches," Zeus joked at her. Thetis frowned at him, the lines making her face look less attractive. "Your son will have his glory, but the girl is in my children's hands. I can do nothing."

"They won't let you intervene in their plans, Thetis," Hera sputtered, venom in her voice, "Besides, your son will have glory if he dies or not." The Queen of Olympus smirked at her last words as Thetis practically growled and launched herself at the woman. Zeus held her back, his face of humor now one of anger.

"Honestly women, control yourselves." Zeus rose from his throne, throwing Thetis from his lap and onto the marble floor. Thetis looked up at him, appalled at his treatment of her while Hera looked amused. Zeus sent a fiery glare at both goddesses before he stalked from the hall. His champion would not be threatened, even if it was a mother concerned for her son.

* * *

Several Greek soldiers stand watch over the camp, fully decked out in their battle armor. Their sleepy eyes scan the beach for any intrusion, but alas, they cannot see their enemies bathed in darkness as they approach. Achilles sleeps in his tent, alone. He is tossing and turning in his sleep as he thinks of the day's events. Suddenly, his awakes as f he knows something is going to happen. His face hardens and he listens intently.

The Trojan militia moves forward along the beach, a few hundred feet in front of the Greek watchmen. Pairs of them are holding tightly onto ropes, pulling some type of mechanism behind them. In the dark, no one can see the weapon. Once they finish dragging the weapon across the beach, they signal to the archers behind them who shoot arrows lit with fire onto the sand. This alerts the Greeks immediately as they let out war cries and alert the camp with horns. Thousands of men rush from their tents and into the frenzy, hastily arming themselves as they wait for the Trojans appearance.

Agamemnon, Odysseus, and Nestor emerge from the high king's tent, having been discussing strategies for the next day. They all watch as the men get into formation on the high dunes, looks of astonishment on their tired faces. Arrows continue to be shot, landing in front of the gathering Achaeans, but the Trojans are nowhere to be seen.

Finally, the Trojans pull forward their surprise weapon: large spheres of hay. They tug the massive balls forward, pulling and then pushing them towards the fiery arrows. The hay bales make their descent towards the water, gathering speed and become fire balls. They pass by the fortifications left by the Trojans when the Greeks sacked the beach, which are useless against the spheres' heavy weight. Instead, they make their mark on the Dardanian soldiers who shriek in pain as they are hit.

Hector stands above the chaos, his men moving forward to watch the destruction below. They do not engage in battle, but smirk as some ships burst into flames. Their work there is done. Hector does not involve his men any further, but orders them away against his father's orders. Bodies lay scattered across the beach. Death is there in that moment and Hector cannot take it anymore.

Meanwhile, further down the beach, Panthea is stuck in her father's tent, of which is being engulfed by flames. She cannot find her way out. The smoke is making her eyes water and her throat parched. She cannot breathe. A beam from the structure of the tent collapses, striking Panthea in the head as she is crawling across the ground. She is knocked out immediately and lays there unconscious.

Outside, Menelaus is frantic as he calls out for Panthea. His men hold him back as they cart buckets of water to the scene to down the fire. If they do not hurry, Panthea could be lost to them. Several try to enter the tent, but are prevented by the rising flames which singe their skin. The feat is attempted again and again, but no man has enough courage to save the princess, that is, until Achilles arrives.

Achilles is an image of hope as he arrives, dressed in his bronze armor. He is a godly image, blinding ever one as the sun rises over the horizon and shines on his figure. He had prepared himself for battle when he heard the war cries, Panthea's words sounding in his head. He was not a coward and he would prove it to her. However, as soon as the battle began, it ended. None of the Myrmidons had been injured. They had avoided the spheres of fire expertly and were standing around their king, looks of joy on their face as they realized their master would return to war. However, their cries of cheer were interrupted by a soldier running hurriedly towards them, wearing the symbol of Menelaus on his shield.

"My lord," the man cries, still running towards the Myrmidons, "the lady Panthea is trapped inside her father's tent. The beams have fallen on her and we cannot hear her anymore. Menelaus has asked for your help. We cannot reach her." He is breathless as he relays this to Achilles, whose eyes light up in fear at the prospect of Panthea dying. He takes off into a sprint immediately, his men following loyally behind. Achilles may have seemed calm and collected, but inside he was terrified.

Rushing to the location, Achilles was met with a turmoil unlike any other. The ships on fire had been put out, some saved, but some lost. This was a different scenario. A life was at stake and if lost, the war would lose part of its significance and Achilles would leave for the Greeks to be entirely destroyed by the Trojans.

The flames were consuming the tent rapidly, smoke rising into the sky, making the air cloudy and thick. Soldiers surrounded the tent, trying to douse the fire with flames, but nothing was working. Time was running out and Achilles made a split decision to enter the fiery depth.

Motioning towards Eudorus, the man understood what he was going to do and handed him some clothe that had been soaked in water. Wrapping it around his head and over his nose, Achilles prepared himself physically and mentally for the task. Raising his arm in front of his face, he broke into the already collapsing shelter. Half of the structure had already fallen while the other half was still standing.

Accustoming his eyes to the smoky air, Achilles spotted Panthea unconscious under a fallen beam. She looked uninjured except for a large gash on her forehead where the beam had hit her. Making his way towards her, Achilles avoided the many flames surrounding him, leaning down to grab Panthea under the arms and lift her into his embrace. He brushed her tangled hair out of her face, his eyes watering at her seemingly lifeless body. Kneeling in the sand, he carefully rose from his position, holding Panthea protectively to his chest.

In those few moments, the other half of the tent appeared to be closing in on them, embers stinging Achilles seemingly impenetrable skin. He hissed at the contact, but did not drop Panthea, pulling her closer to shield her from the rising blaze. Searching around the area, he saw no exit. He would have to break through the material himself. Balancing Panthea over his shoulder, Achilles unsheathed his sword and headed towards a spot where the flames did not reach the ceiling. He cut through easily, bursting out of the tent and onto the cool sand beneath his feet, Panthea secured by his large body.

Pain coursed through Achilles body as his Myrmidons assessed the damage to his skin. Small burns littered his body, some more serious than others. Fortunately, only his legs seemed to be harmed. The burns would heal over the next few days by applying medicinal salves and resting. Panthea was a different story. Her breathing was shallow, small burns covered her body, and a large gash decorated her forehead. Achilles swatted his men away as he assessed his little warrior, worried at her ashen face. Laying her on the sand in front of him, he stroked her face with his fingers as he scrutinized her body.

"Get some water," Achilles ordered to no particular person. One of the soldiers rushed off into another tent to grab some fresh water. When he returned, Menelaus was right beside him, dropping to his knees next to his daughter. Grabbing the chalice of water from the man's hands, he poured some water onto a sponge and began to wipe the dirt off her face. She still didn't wake. He then poured some water down her throat, trying to clear it. Panthea awoke immediately sputtering out the water as she sat up. She began coughing violently due to the smoke in her lungs. Menelaus patted her back, helping her to breathe.

"Are you alright sweetheart?" Menelaus questioned, rubbing his daughter's back soothingly. Panthea merely nodded her head, her eyes narrowing when she saw Achilles. She backed away from the warrior, moving closer to her father for security. Achilles frowned at the gesture, but didn't say anything to signal his discomfort at her behavior. "Lord Achilles saved you," Menelaus continued, watching the interaction between the pair. He knew of their falling out, but not the full extent of it. Another woman had been involved, but that was the only knowledge he had of the event.

Watching Panthea intently, Menelaus saw her purse her lips and raise her eyebrows in loathing of the man before her, He chuckled under his breath. His daughter, always stubborn and able to hold a grudge. "Thank you," Panthea spoke. She said nothing more than she had to, turning her face away from Achilles.

The Myrmidons then left, Achilles rising abruptly when Panthea continued to ignore him. He let out a grunt of pain, but other than that, he did not make any other noise. Eudorus helped his master, putting an arm around his shoulders to help him walk. Achilles nodded at the comradery, the Myrmidons making their way make towards their camp that had been spared from the Trojans' attack.

"He only did it to protect you from himself. He wanted you to remain a virgin until your betrothal was finalized." Patroclus startles Panthea as he speaks, his voice lowered so only she could hear. Panthea's face is filled with shock as she stares after Achilles, her eyes glistening with tears. "He dismissed the woman, sent her to Odysseus' camp." His words confirm Achilles' acceptance of his mistake and the fact that he would continue to pursue Panthea, even if she hated him. A beacon of hope began to blossom in Patroclus as he observed Panthea's forlorn expression. Perhaps all would be mended with time.

* * *

Three months had passed since that fateful day that Achilles saved Panthea from death by fire. The Spartan princess did not ignore him anymore, she just watched him, her eyes always calculating and constant. It wasn't a childish type of behavior, but one of refusal to accept him back into her life so easily. She shirked from his touch and whenever he spoke to her, she turned her nose up haughtily at him and declined to answer. Menelaus thought it most amusing, especially when the kings of Greece met for dinner. Panthea would sit by her father during the event, quietly eating and sipping from her chalice. She dare not speak or else she would give cause for Achilles to try and lure her into conversation. If Eudorus or Patroclus had come along, she would talk and laugh with them, sparking a nerve in Achilles. She only did it to annoy him, which was working.

Achilles had entered back into battle, but Panthea's words still stung his vanity. _Coward._ He would replay that word over and over in his mind as he fought. He did not possess the same zeal and lust for war as he had previously possessed and it bothered Agamemnon constantly. Winter was now approaching and as tradition, the fighting would stop. Food supplies would lessen and disease would probably ravage the camp while the Trojans would remain snug in their walls.

Achilles returned early from the frenzy that day, having spotted Hector, but not confronting him. He didn't want to rush the occasion for he knew it would be glorious. His muscles burned as he sheathed his sword, strapping his shield onto his back. Sweat dripped from his forehead, down his face, and onto his neck where his golden hair stuck against the skin. Blood was also on his skin, but was sticky and in layers in comparison to the sweat. His Myrmidons flocked around him like sheep to a shepherd as they made their way towards their encampment. Patroclus was absentmindedly swinging his sword in practice with another Myrmidon. A few had been left behind for security reasons. They would switch out positions each day, except for Patroclus who Achilles would not let out of his sight.

Entering his tent, Achilles unstrapped all his armor, letting it fall to the ground unceremoniously. He was entirely naked, but he was alone, so it did not matter. Grabbing a cloth, he dipped it into a basin filled with water and cleaned himself up as best he could, rubbing harshly against his skin until it was sufficiently spotless. Bracing himself against the basin, Achilles looked to the right to see the glittering pile of gifts he had saved for Panthea. He had been on many raids in the past three months, all to various cities. First, there was Imbros, then Thrace, Ascania, Tenedos, and Colonae. Each had been successful with Achilles as their leader. He had brought back jewelry, cloth, golden statues, and other treasures for Panthea, all of which had been rejected fervently and remained untouched. Instead of getting rid of them, Achilles had saved them, hoping Panthea would have it in her heart to forgive him eventually. His thoughts were interrupted when Nestor entered, not bothering to say anything when he saw Achilles was naked. He was used to it as it was war.

"Agamemnon has requested your presence." Nestor studied Achilles critically. The man would usually refuse or make some kind of smart remark, but this time, he only nodded and put on a chiton and cloak, strapped on his sandals, and attached his sword to his belt, wrapping it around his waist. Achilles was a changed man, but not for the better in Agamemnon's eyes.

The men walked side by side as they made their way towards Agamemnon's massive enclosure. Nestor inspected the god-like warrior's face. It was indifferent, yet dark bags could be seen under his eyes, a symbol of his exhaustion over the past three months. Agamemnon had noticed it and brought it to Nestor's attention immediately, henceforth the reason for his visit.

Walking through the coarse sand, the men pulled their cloaks closer as the bitter wind began to pick up. A few more weeks and it would be winter. The temperature was beginning to drop significantly at night, the Earth barely warming by the time noon arrived. When the season set in, it would be ten times as worse than it was at that moment.

Watchmen stood alert at the tent's entrance, announcing the arrival of the two great men. Both entered, Nestor bowing while Achilles stood there threateningly. Agamemnon waved Nestor away and motioned for all the guards to leave as well. He would have a private audience with Achilles, man to man.

Agamemnon smirked at Achilles as the man stalked around the area. His face like that of a child, though pudgy and disgusting in Achilles' eyes. Agamemnon lounged in his golden throne, taking in Achilles' appearance with satisfaction. The man looked as if he had been demeaned, barely able to fight. Of course, Achilles still rejected the orders of Agamemnon, yet the King knew how to persuade him.

"I see Panthea no longer visits," Agamemnon said, his eyes lightng up with glee when he realized he hit a nerve in Achilles.

"Stay out of my business old man," Achilles sneered, his jaw tensing.

Agamemnon chuckled at Achilles harsh tone. "I have a proposal for you. I know it would interest you very much." Those several words caught Achilles attention, his lion-like eyes scrutinizing Agamemnon for any trickery. "I need you to carry out another raid for me, this time on Zeleia, a town at the base of Mt. Ida. You do this, and I will convince Menelaus to formally betroth Panthea to you." He could see the clockwork in Achilles' mind at work and saw the look of defeat on his face.

"I'll do it." That was the end of their conversation, the greatest warrior of Greece leaving Agamemnon's tent swiftly while the King of Mycenae relished in his small victory.

* * *

Achilles was noiseless as he and his Myrmidons traveled across the forest floor, all barely making a sound as they stealthily made their way to Zeleia's Temple of Zeus. Other Greeks also accompanied them. They were all decked out in their bronze armor, swords held tightly in their hands. It was abnormally quiet for such a main city. There was no bustling within and it showed no sign of life.

The Achaeans were able to get into the city easily, much to Achilles' surprise. There were no walls surrounding the city as foreigners tracked far and wide to pay homage to the gods at the temple. He had thought there would have been an effort against the Greeks, but the citizens had been warned and evacuated. Soldiers were not in sight, making the men alert and ever-watching their surroundings.

The men continued their way through the city, staying in the shadows and trying not to draw attention to themselves. They soon arrived at the temple, where it was said the secrets of Troy were kept. It was a grand structure, made of white marble and housing precious jewels. A great statute of Zeus stood erect at the back of the massive temple, entrails of a sacrifice still burning. Someone was there, probably a priest who would not leave his post for anything.

Suddenly, war cries were heard and the Greeks army was surrounded by armed warriors. They had known the Greeks would seek out the temple and had positioned themselves there for a surprise attack. It seemed as if hundreds were there, all aiming for the destruction of the Greek raiding party.

Achilles met each opponent head on, easily killing them as he showed off his grace and agility with a sword. Man after man tried to disarm the great warrior, but nothing worked. He was unstoppable. Eudorus also seemed to be handling himself well. The man could intimidate anyone just by staring menacingly at them with his unique and big blue eyes. He sliced through an opposing soldier, the man bleeding out on the temple floor as his life was drained from his body.

As many soldiers surrounded them, others emerged from hidden spaces above. Some had been able to carefully balance themselves on statues, others were located in tiny crooks above. They had strung their bows and now, arrows were being continuously shot whenever an opportunity had arisen. The Myrmidons soon realized their predicament, many holding their shields above their heads for protection. They too called out for their archers, some of them able to dislodge themselves from their opponents and take cover as they began to shoot.

The battle soon turned into a bloodbath, all men covered in a thick layer of blood whether it was their own or an enemy's. Some men lay dying, others were dead next to their brothers in arms. The Myrmidons and other Greeks were the clear winners, only a few being injured critically. Most only possessed small scratches where a blade had grazed them or a bruise where an opponent had used physical force. Many of the Trojans had run off when they realized they held the lower hand in their attack, too cowardly to die defending their city.

The Dardanians all let out cheers of victories when they saw the enemy retreating, all savoring their glory. They soon headed into the temple, claiming their prizes. Achilles remained on the porch of the temple, resting. He had no need to act like a greedy man. His men would all have their share, yet they would not boast like the others. Eudorus knew to search for certain items that Achilles would want for Panthea, but other than that, he was free to collect his own reward.

Sheathing his sword, Achilles removed his helmet, his golden mane now loose against his shoulders. He let out a heavy sigh and stretched his aching muscles as he relaxed and waited for the men to reappear with their hands or pouches filled to the brim with treasure. He was tired of fighting without a real cause. Agamemnon only wanted to gain wealth and prestige. Consumed with his thoughts, he didn't notice that one of the Trojans had lagged behind and was approaching him with his sword raised. Achilles barely had enough time to react, his Myrmidons emerging from the temple and alerting their master. He turned quickly, unsheathing his sword, but the attack could not be entirely deflected. The sharp blade cut into Achille's shoulder, the warrior grunting as he felt the sting of pain. Achilles was able to push his opponent away before he caused further damage and embedded his own weapon in the man's stomach. The soldier groaned as the sword was pulled away, blood pouring from the wound. He connected eyes with Achilles before falling to his knees and collapsing dead on the ground.

The Myrmidons rushed to their master, Achilles gritting his teeth as he assessed the injury. He needed to apply pressure to stop the bleeding as it was deep, but not too deep that it had struck any vital veins, muscle or tissue. He was very lucky for often these abrasions could lead to death. He had been careless having not continued watching his surroundings and he had paid the price. The group then made their way quickly back to where several guards stood with their horses, Eudorus helping Achilles into the saddle and wrapping a cloth around his shoulder. They needed to hurry and find medical attention quick for their Achilles could fade if not treated.

* * *

The raiding party had returned from their journey, Achilles bleeding through his makeshift band aid. His eyes were drooping and his grip was loose on the reins. Throughout their ride, Eudorus had to steady his master for fear he would lose consciousness and fall off his horse. The Myrmidons dismounted hastily, aiding their master and helping him into the tent while they called for a physician. With the right herbs, the bleeding was stopped. However, this incident proved that like all other men, Achilles was still mortal. Agamemnon of course spread rumors throughout the camp that Achilles had miraculously healed himself so as not to deter the men's morale. Achilles was the key to winning this war and if the men felt their champion was not who he was said to be, then all hope was lost.

* * *

Eudorus stood guard over his lord that night, standing watch at the entrance of his quarters and making sure he did not catch fever or infection. He was an attentive servant, changing his master's poultices and making sure he only drank water. Patroclus had been frantic when his cousin had returned injured, but was assured that Achilles would recover soon. However, during his shift, an unexpected visit arrived and reassured him that she would care for Achilles during the night. Eudorus left gladly, sure that the Spartan princess could cure Achilles' wound and his heart.

Entering the tent, Panthea removed the cloak that had concealed her person, letting it fall to the floor carelessly as she practically through herself at Achilles bedside. He was sleeping, or so she assumed, the furs pulled up over his waist, but his chest bare. She sat down gently next to him, teary-eyed as she examined the injury. She ran her fingers over it lightly, cringing at what may have happened if Achilles had received a worst fate.

"Panthea, I'm sorry," Achilles spoke quietly, his hand latching onto hers as she jumped at the interrupted silence. Immediately, she latched herself onto him, careful not to bother the wound, and pressed her face into his chest where she sobbed against him. "Shhh now," he continued, "I think I'm the one that should be crying, not you." That only made her cry harder as she pressed herself further into his body. Achilles stroked her air gently, inhaling her delicious scent. If he had known being injured would bring her back to him, he would have done it ages ago.

"I thought," Panthea hiccupped, "I thought you were going to die. I begged for my father to let me see you, but he wouldn't. Patroclus explained everything to me. I forgive you." Achilles had never smiled so hard in his life. It felt as if he could breathe again. Slowly, he lifted her face up so he could see her fully, her eyes raw and tears still dripping down her face. He smiled, stroking her cheek lightly and tracing his finger across her cheekbone before moving it down her jaw and across her throat. Panthea swallowed hard as she watched his movements, not moving as he delicately wrapped his fingers around her neck in a domineering motion. He lurched forward, pressing his lips dominatingly against hers. The gesture was abrupt, but not unwanted as Panthea met his fervor with excitement of her own.

Panthea maneuvered her body over Achilles as she straddled him, her hands tangled in his hair as she tried not to hurt his tender area where he had been injured. Achilles groaned at the contact as he felt her heat against him, his hands going to the pins of her peplos while his mouth moved to the crook of her neck where he sucked and lapped at the skin. She was nervous, he could tell by the way she was shaking under his touch.

The material fell from their confines easily, Achilles throwing the pins across the tent. He could see Panthea's top half clearly now, the white skin and rosy buds that he had dreamed about for so long. He rubbed her sides gently, his hands moving up her stomach and underneath her breasts. Panthea stroked his hair lazily as she let him accustom himself to the body he craved.

Readjusting her in his lap, Achilles covered Panthea's lips with his own again, both moaning at the contact. His hands sought out her delicious mounds, squeezing them both tightly before rubbing the pink buds between his fingers. Panthea dislodged her lips from his, whimpering into his neck as he found her sensitive points. He took the opportunity to move his lips onto her left breast, rubbing his tongue expertly over the bud before biting down hard. Panthea's hips bucked and she made another sound, of pain and pleasure. Achilles moved his hands down further, his mouth moving to the other breast. He traced patterns into the smooth skin of her stomach before his hands moved further down, stopping at the material just above Panthea's waist. Grasping the cloth in his hands, he ripped the peplos apart, baring her to his eyes.

Achilles removed his lips from Panthea's body, his hands now gripping her hips tightly as desire clouded his eyes. She watched as he just sated at her sex, licking his lips like a predator. She was frightened as well as satisfied by the look in his eyes.

"Turn around," Achilles spoke huskily, "Lean your back against my chest." She slowly rose from her position, shifting her legs to on side before settling in front of him where his legs had opened for her to fit. Skin met skin and Panthea gasped as she felt his manhood against her backside. She craned her neck to look at him, his eyes sharp as they connected with her innocent ones. She gulped, turning her head back to look in front as she leaned her back against his chest and watched his hands move across her body. They slid easily over her thighs, coming to her knees which were pressed together. He wrenched them apart, opening them for his view. One hand held her knee while the other slowly traveled to its desired destination, Panthea quivering as a finger was pressed against her folds.

Panthea moaned, her head falling back against the uninjured shoulder as Achilles began his work. His finger moved gently across her opening, sliding up and down to create a wondrous friction that had Panthea moving her hips up. He groaned at the feeling, knowing if she continued it he would be undone. Faster and faster he moved his fingers, making Panthea elicit all types of noise. He switched the position of his hand, his thumb rubbing against her bundle of nerves while the other entered her core. Her hand griped his forearm tightly as he continued. A few more seconds and she was unraveled, her head thrown back against his shoulder. She could not scream; her gasps being caught in her throat as she reached new heights. Achilles continued, sending her over the edge again as his fingers would not stop their movements. He finally faltered when he heard her whisper one single word.

"Please," Panthea whimpered, a slave to Achilles touch. She wanted more. She needed more. Achilles removed his hand from between her legs as she slumped against him, her energy drained even though Achilles was the one who brought her release. They sat their silent, both catching their breath. Achilles was still trying to comprehend the meaning behind her words when she lay down next to him, her arms reached out to him like a child. He conceded with her request, carefully positioning himself between her legs so as not to hurt himself more.

Panthea felt protected and comforted by Achilles as he lay between her legs, barring his weight against his forearms carefully. He pushed against her, making her spread her thighs further apart and making her moan. He smirked at her before a serious look appeared in his eyes. Panthea noticed, calming all his fears when she pulled his head forward to meet her lips hard. That was all the reassurance he needed as he aligned himself with her opening, grabbing the base of his length before pushing the tip inside. Panthea felt a burning sensation as he pushed himself further and further inside, whimpering as he entered her. Hearing the sound, Achilles pulled back before harshly slamming inside her again, breaching her maidenhead. Panthea jerked at the feeling while Achilles tried to hold her still. He knew it hurt and it pained him more than anything, but it needed to happen so it would be done and over with. As he watched her thrash beneath him, he felt another emotion keen to possession and want, and drew back again before pushing back in, a little more gently this time as Panthea got used to being filled with his length.

Once the tears began to disappear from Panthea's eyes, Achilles began pumping into her with a solid rhythm. Panthea still stung, but the pain was soon joined by a throbbing sensation that made her groan in pleasure. She arched upwards, Achilles latching on to one of her nipples, making the princess moan even louder. She tried to meet each thrust with her own, but he was too quick, thrusting into her at the pace of a hummingbird's wings. Her hands ran over the contours of his muscled back before pulling him against her tightly, wanting more of his heat against her. Achilles pulled at one of her legs, wrapping it around his waist before the other followed suit.

"Achilles," Panthea screamed as she neared her release. Achilles moved inside her even faster, though it seemed nearly impossible at the pace he was already at. Moving his hands from her hips, he grasped her wrists tightly in his large hands before pressing a brutish kiss to her lips, leaving them bruised and swollen from the immense pressure. He could feel her core tightening around him, signaling that her orgasm was near. He stilled for a moment, waiting for her to say those three words that would make him hers for life. "Achilles," she pleaded, trying to move her hips upwards, but he pushed them harshly back into the bed. "Please," she mewled to him, "I love you." That was all the golden warrior needed to hear as he drew back into her, fast and deep.

An earth-shattering feeling was felt by Panthea as she came around Achilles manhood. He followed her, bucking a few more times before he was overtaken by his release. His seed entered her as he shuddered against her small frame. The two laid there for a while, Achilles face buried in her chest. Panthea rubbed her hands along his broad back, breathing deeply as she caught her breath.

Pushing himself up on shaky arms, Achilles withdrew his length from Panthea's core, making her shiver at the loss of heat. He watched as their liquids pooled beneath Panthea, never having felt quite as much satisfaction as he did in that moment. Laying on his uninjured side, he pulled Panthea into his embrace, whispering his love for her into her ear. His shoulder stung a little, but it did not matter.

"Are you happy?" Achilles questioned Panthea, searching her eyes for the love he didn't deserve.

"I've never been happier my love," Panthea responded, drawing him into a simple kiss that soon advanced into another round of lovemaking.

The two were watched over by Aphrodite that night, the sins of the flesh taking over. They made love well into the next day, neither resting until the sound of soldiers preparing for battle could be heard. Their skin was sticky with saliva, sweat, and other liquids known to lovemaking, but neither cared as they sat there in Achilles tent, staring into each other's eyes until they fell asleep, immune to the happenings of war.

* * *

 **A/N: AHHHHH FINALLY I know you guys were waiting forever. Hope you liked it. Please review!**


	16. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.**

 **A/N: Next chapter up! Hello to my new followers/favs: ArticAlphaFemale, , The LadyQueenB, Cooky Crumbla, Awesome Sauce1998, kadee son 12345, and Reedy-Girl. Please review!**

 **Response to guest: Yeah, I can see how you feel that way. This is Panthea's first love though and honestly, I saw this happen all the time in high school so I'm trying to relay the whole first love idea and forgiveness. There will be some drama in the next upcoming chapters so Achilles is not totally off the hook yet. Thank you for reviewing!**

 **Response to Percilla (guest): Haha love your reaction! Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Response to guest: No! I would never think your review offensive. I like all feedback. I totally understand where you are coming from. The next chapter will hopefully redeem Achilles and the next chapters will show Panthea's independence more. Thank you for reviewing! Any ideas you have are welcome.**

 **Response to guest (Jasmine): Oh, thank you so much for reviewing! I hoped I would be able to do all those things you have said a writer should do. Yes, I read a few that just went right in. Others barely focus on the movie. I hoped to convey a before scenario before the movie and then add my own perspective. Yes, many would think the two women wouldn't have a good relationship. Achilles does have some indiscretions but these next chapters will redeem him. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Response to guest (Gingersnap): Thank you! Hector will be coming back at the end of this chapter! Thanks for reviewing.**

* * *

 **Ch. 15**

" _ **Sing, O muse, of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans."**_

 _ **~ Homer, The Iliad**_

* * *

Moonlight filtered through an opening in Achilles' tent, small holes in the roofing of the structure where the elements had slightly punctured through. It was raining lightly, small drops of water falling from the sky. A chill was in the air with winter fast approaching. Whenever it stormed, the rain and wind seemed to prey on the men, biting into their victims viciously and unrelentingly. Some were starting to get restless, tired of the war that seemed to be occurring with no success.

Panthea lay securely next to Achilles side, his arm wrapped tightly around her as their naked bodies pressed together. Both of their breathing was labored and their bodies were covered in a sheer layer of sweat from their extracurricular activities having just been finished for the moment. Achilles was content, his arms protectively encasing Panthea as she placed small kisses on his collarbone. Her hands grasped the back of Achilles' neck tightly and the warrior hummed, satisfied at her actions.

Staring up at her lover, Panthea held a comical look in her eyes as she moved her hands to rub up and down Achilles chest. Noticing this, Achilles raised his eyebrows at her in question. "Am I your prisoner now?" she asked. Achilles chuckled at the comment, stroking the skin over her spine. This made Panthea arch into his touch and he smiled at the gesture.

"I think prisoner is a little too harsh of a word. Besides, I think you've been staying here of your own accord, not because I've forced you too." Achilles began to slip his hand lower down her body as he spoke, smirking as Panthea tried to wriggle out from his arms.

"I think I can resist the mighty Achilles' charm," Panthea stated, escaping from Achilles' grasp and rising from the fur-covered bed. She held a single sheet to her chest, trying to hide her nakedness. It did little to hide anything. It barely covered her breasts and lower regions. Her thighs still showed as well as her bare sides which Achilles could see behind the sheet. She giggled at Achilles' hurt facial expression as she darted to the other side of the tent. He followed her, his dominating self stalking towards her playfully as well as threateningly. He didn't bother to grab anything to cover himself. He was too prideful for that.

Panthea blushed as a nude Achilles proceeded to chase her around the confines of the tent, his eyes dark and seductive. Not a flaw appeared on his body. Everything was perfectly sculpted, making Panthea blush even more at his confidence. Panthea laughed at his antics, trying to keep herself covered up, but to avail, the sheet was ripped from her fingers roughly as Achilles tackled her. The couple fell onto the bed as Panthea tried to jump over it, Achilles having pulled her to him before she could do anything.

It was a soft landing, Panthea landing on her stomach while Achilles caught himself before falling on top of her directly. Humor then turned into seriousness as Achilles took over, pinning Panthea to the bed. Her throat ran dry as she studied the hungry look in his eyes. He wanted her, rough and hard, and there was nothing she could do about it. Turning her around to lay on her back, Achilles remained silent, causing a quizzical look to appear on Panthea's face. He merely grinned at her as he held her waist and kissed her abdomen gently.

"What are you doing?" Panthea questioned naively. She cocked her head to the side as Achilles propped himself up on his elbows and moved his lips lower and lower. That was when Panthea realized what he was doing and nervously tried to close her legs. They had not yet entered this level of physical intimacy and it scared the Spartan princess. Achilles would have none of it and halted her closing legs, parting them for his pleasure. He maneuvered his arms under her thighs before pressing down on her hips to hold them in place.

Panthea tried once more to release herself, but Achilles held her in his iron grip, descending upon her like a ravenous lion. His lips were right above her sensitive nub, his hot breath breathing on her tauntingly. She breathed in deeply, watching him timidly as her hands griped the sheets below her. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes looking up towards his little warrior before he delved in. Panthea immediately let out a sound between a whimper and scream, the noise dying in her throat as soon as it formed. Achilles licked up and down the length of her vulva, teasing her clit occasionally to make her quiver. He was an expert at the task, drawing her pleasure out before changing movements and starting the process all over again.

As soon as Panthea was comfortable enough, meaning her head was thrown back in rapture and her body was shaking from pleasure, Achilles penetrated her core, groaning as he tasted her fully. His tongue rolled inside of her as he guided her hips into a steady rhythm before reaching up and squeezing one of her pale breasts. Panthea let out a small moan. Her fingers had laced themselves in Achilles's mane, pushing his head further into her center. She could feel him smile against her center for a moment before returning to his work.

Achilles could feel her core tightening around his tongue and it made him hard instantly, wanting it to be his length inside her now. She was already wet when he had started, but now she was soaking to the brim, her feminine essence having coated his tongue and his lips generously. Moving his tongue faster, Achilles could feel her climax nearing, growling when he heard the noises Panthea was making. His large hands held her in place, pushing her down into the mattress painfully, even as her hips bucked in the air. Achilles gave one last lick, moving his fingers to fiddle with her clit to give her one more push over the edge. She sang beautifully to him, pulling his hair roughly as she came. Her tense body fell back onto the mattress, exhausted. Achilles gazed at his handy work as he lifted his head from Panthea's region, satisfied with the result. He clambered over her in an instant, his demanding self ordering Panthea to lay on her stomach by pushing and pulling her in the right direction. Panthea nodded, doing what he said. She stared over her shoulder at him with hooded eyes, waiting for his next command.

Achilles gawked at the woman before him, her white-blonde hair cascading over her back like a waterfall. Every curve, every ounce of flesh on her body was for his eyes only. Leaning over her, he shifted her curls to the side before kissing the smooth flesh of her shoulder and moving his lips to her inner neck. Panthea contorted her body to accommodate Achilles actions. Feeling his manhood against her round bottom, she rubbed against him sensuously. He stilled at the feeling, his breathing deepening and his fingers digging into the skin of her upper torso. She smirked, liking the way she had this type of hold over him.

Seeing the look on her face, Achilles wanted to "punish" Panthea for the indiscretion, pinning her hands down in front of her. She retaliated, her yells of frustration reaching his ears as she tried to wriggle her way out of his grasp. The plan didn't work as Achilles' hips forcefully pinned her bottom half to the bed. Her movements only made him harder and more impatient to take her. Moving both of her wrists to one hand's iron grip, he reached down with the other to touch her. She arched at the sensation, her fighting halting immediately as his fingers played with her already wet center. He sweet-talked to her as his fingers drew slowly in and out of her core, making her moan for more. His measured pace was driving her crazy with need and she rubbed her core faster against him so he would get the message loud and clear.

Achilles smirked, removing his dripping fingers from Panthea's center and bringing them to guide his large and pulsing member into her. The tip of his length edged into her, testing her walls as he stretched her to the limit. Panthea let out a loud gasp as he filled her completely and deeply. It was new angle for her and she had never felt so connected with him. It stung a little, but it was nothing compared to the time he had breached her maidenhood. He was entirely in her now, Achilles holding himself back for Panthea's sake. He could feel her tightness and her heat encasing his length, making him shake in pleasure. He needed to be gentle for fear he could rush her body into something it needed to accommodate itself too.

Holding himself carefully above her, Achilles began to thrust his powerful hips into Panthea. He was tender as he let Panthea accustom herself to the deeper feeling, waiting for her breathing and body to adjust to his motions. He tried to hit her most sensitive spots, stopping when he reached them as Panthea began to shake uncontrollably from her bliss. As soon as she let out a small whimper, all patience was lost and the animal within appeared. He practically pounded her into the mattress, his firm hands bruising Panthea's wrists as he held them above her head. Panthea could barely raise her head and turned it to the side as her breathing became labored from Achilles' efforts. She could feel every inch of his body pressing into hers, making her push back against him to feel more of his heat against her.

Panthea's climax sneaked up on her and she struggled to breath as her core clenched against Achilles' member. Achilles' continued plunging himself in and out of her until she reached the craved feeling, sheathing himself fully inside of her as he came as well. The tent was filled with their sounds, Achilles' loud growling and Panthea's silent whining. When he felt her orgasm was ending, he pushed into her once more, extending the glorious feeling for her as well as himself. His seed burst inside of her, mixing with her feminine essence.

Cautiously, Achilles' extracted himself from Panthea, landing on his back as she lay limp beside him. With utmost care, he pulled her into his chest. Her wrists and hips were most definitely bruised by his hold, making him feel guilty, but the emotion faded away when he saw the pleased smile on Panthea's face. She winced when she moved closer to him, but when she settled herself comfortable against him, she was the epitome of happiness. Her blue eyes sparkled up at Achilles' intense ones, making the warrior soften his features when he realized there was no harm done. She giggled at his expression, nuzzling her face into his chest. Achilles wrapped his arms securely around her, pressing a small kiss to her forehead in satisfaction before asking her the question that could possibly change the war forever.

"Would you leave this all behind? Would you leave Troy?" Achilles' voice was still husky from their romp, but held a pleading note in it. Panthea studied her lover's face, stroking his brow as she thought about what it would mean. She would leave her mother and the wronged Trojans, but would return home. It was a difficult decision, especially when her father's brother would never leave until his greed was satisfied. She nodded. Whether it was in partial or whole agreeance, she could not tell for her heart pulled in another direction for some unknown reason. Achilles did not see her dilemma, but pulled her even tighter against him. The two were lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves, moonlight shimmering over their bodies until the sun god rose to begin the day.

* * *

Achilles paced down by the edge of the ocean, trying to steady his ever-wandering mind. He was contemplating what Panthea had conceded to a few nights before. He was so ready to leave this wretched place, forever fighting for a reasonless war. He was tired of the constant death surrounding them, the never-ending blood and gore, the screams, the ending of lives. Wives would never be able to see their husbands, mothers their sons, and children would never again see their fathers. He hoped to spare his men from that misery and take Panthea away from the chaos.

Further down the beach, Panthea was making her way towards Menelaus' tent. He had requested her presence due to her absences and wished to discuss boundaries for her and Achilles before they were married. He was worried about her virtue, as any father should be, and he had decided that she would no longer be allowed alone with Achilles unless a chaperone was present. Her guards loyally followed behind, eyeing a group of rowdy men who seemed to be eyeing the princess. The guards gripped their weapons tightly, warning the soldiers, but they wouldn't back off as they stalked towards Panthea. Few women were in the camp and with a lack of entertainment, the men were becoming bored.

One of the men went to grab her at the waist, stumbling towards her in his drunken stupor. Another grinned wickedly at her, clawing at her peplos and trying to rip if off her body. The guards were spurred into action immediately, trying to protect the princess. They unsheathed their weapons, pointing them threateningly at the ruffians. Of course, they didn't want to kill the men, but if worse came to worse, they would have to use violence to save their princess. A group of ten men surrounded the guards while two others went to restrain Panthea. She kicked and hit at them as they cornered her. When they finally grabbed her, she screamed at the top of her lungs and used her teeth to bite the men so they would release her. One angrily slapped her in the face, making Panthea fall to the ground. She tried to scramble away from the men, sand flying everywhere. She looked to her guards who fared worse than her. They were both being beaten to a bloody pulp, their weapons thrown to the side as the thugs had overpowered them.

Panthea focused on herself then, trying her hardest to evade the louts in front of her. She rolled to the side, trying to regain her balance on her feet. She continued to back away from the men, searching for a sword to use in her defense. A sliver of silver was spotted buried in the sand and she lunged for it, baring the tip to the men in front of her. They continued to leer at her, their numbers growing behind them as the others finished their task. A few were missing, having been injured by her guards who were currently unconscious due to their beating. Only eight remained, but they completely outnumbered her. Some were lanky and easy to finish, others were burly and heavier in mass. If they all worked against her, she would be doomed, but because of their intoxication, her chances were higher of getting out of this situation unscathed.

The hoodlums broke off into small groups of two or three, each lunging towards Panthea menacingly. She had hoped not to use the sword, but with the threat of being raped, she had to in order to save herself. Bracing herself, she sliced through the first two men, piercing them in areas she knew would not be fatal. The two men collapsed to the ground, clutching their bloody, but not life-threatening news. The other two groups hounded forward, their own weapons now glaring ominously at Panthea. She gulped audibly, her eyes glancing between each weapon frantically. She had fought soldiers before, but never in such vast amounts. She needed to get through this calmly and patiently before she was drug across the beach and passed between each man, a ruined woman.

The ruffians each sprung like lions towards Panthea who blocked their attacks expertly. She dodged each weapon as she took on a defensive stance. The men would use all their strength while their moves would be unorganized and sloppy because of their intoxicated state, giving Panthea an advantage. She disarmed one man, sticking her leg out to trip him which made him knock his head on an unseen rock covered by sand. Another was soon without a weapon when Panthea stuck her sword against his own and dislodged it from his grip. The others each took their turn, unleashing their anger on the princess. She spun to the side, avoiding the tip of their swords and parrying their advances.

Panthea knew the louts were tiring. Some had even fallen to the ground unconscious because of their alcohol intake. They now lay sleeping as the battle raged on between Panthea and the remaining soldiers. The main perpetrators remained, continuing their furious onslaught. They were massive in comparison to Panthea's size, henceforth why they had no succumbed to sleep. Their bodies were far more used to drinking than the others and it would take a lot to knock out the giants.

"When are you going to give up little princess?" the taller one yelled. He leered at her as their swords clashed, his tone threatening. The other smiled evilly at her as the two pressed on. They were brutal in their attack, never halting for a second. Panthea couldn't take much longer. Her arms felt as if they give out because of the men's overpowering strength. Letting out a loud gasp, she collapsed on the sand, her hand having been bent backwards at an awkward angle. Her sword had been dislodged from her hand and her eyes stared up at her perpetrators with a combination of resistance as well as fear.

Panthea tried to crawl away from the men, sand spraying up in every direction as she struggled to escape. The men both cast aside their weapons, stepping on her peplos and grabbing at her body to halt her movements. Panthea let out a blood curling scream as they grabbed her, kicking and hitting in every direction. One held her by the wrists while the other fell on top of her to restrain her legs. She fought with every ounce of power in her being, but nothing could help her.

"I think we know what happens now," said the larger of the two ruffians. He smirked down at Panthea as his finger traced the smooth skin of her neck. Panthea frowned at him before spitting in his face as an act of defiance. The man was taken aback by her gesture, delivering a slap to her face which momentarily blinded Panthea's vision. He continued his trek, maneuvering her in his arms before crashing his lips onto hers. Panthea continued to fight, trying to pull her wrists out of one captors grasp while she kicked and bucked beneath the other. The man then moved his lips to her throat and shoulder to which she protested. She cried out, but it was no use, she was trapped.

Both thugs then decided that their playtime was over. Both ripped Panthea's peplos off her upper body, groping her breasts roughly and assaulting the rest of her body. She squirmed beneath the men, calling out for help, but her shaking body betrayed her real emotions. She was absolutely terrified, her eyes darting every which way as she tried to see if anyone would come to her rescue. Her strength was beginning to fade, but until her energy was completely exerted, she would continue to fight against her perpetrators.

"Struggle some more princess. Its only making me harder." Panthea felt as if she would retch at the soldier's comment, her body shivering in disgust. She let out one last scream as the men descended down her lower body, their hands climbing up her legs. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the feeling. However, their weight disappeared suddenly, causing her to open her eyes in confusion. Both men lay beside her, their throats slit. Achilles stood above them, a murderous look on his face. The Myrmidons stood around them, their weapons at the ready.

Achilles reached down for Panthea and covered her body quickly with his cloak. She was too traumatized to even cry as she reached her arms up for him. He gathered her up in his arms protectively, his arms holding her tightly in his embrace. His face was still that of anger as he made his way to Menelaus' camp. All cleared a path for him, frightened by the warrior's expression. He was seething inside. When he saw those men pawing at her vulnerable body, he lost it. He would have done more than slit their throats, but all that mattered was Panthea. They were dead now, but their mark might remain. Their actions could have influenced others and now, Panthea was in danger.

Entering Menelaus' tent unannounced, the King of Sparta was taken aback by the sight of his shaking daughter in Achilles' arms.

"What have you done?" Menelaus shouted irately at Achilles, yanking his daughter from the golden warrior's arms and carrying her in his own. He brought her over to his own bed, examining the damage done by gently running his fingers over the darkened areas of her skin. It seemed that every time he saw her, she was injured in some way. He was mortified at what he saw. He couldn't believe it. His own daughter had been violated. He knew the signs of rape and that is exactly what these men had attempted in their intoxicated condition.

"Menelaus, I swear to you I would never do this to her. The men are restless. There aren't enough women to please the men. It's not safe for her anymore." Achilles' voice held an authoritative yet pleading tone as he studied Panthea from his position across the tent. She didn't deserve what had been happened to her, no woman did. Achilles was one of the few men that never condoned rape. A woman was still a human being, even if they were the weaker sex by standards. She was shaking now, her petite body quivering in fear as well as cold from the chill in the air. It taken a few minutes for her to understand what had happened to her and now hot tears streamed down her face as she buried herself in her father's arms. Menelaus held her gently, rubbing her back in comfort.

"Perhaps we should have a word…in private?" Achilles nodded in agreeance at Menelaus' question. The Spartan King transferred his daughter to his bed, pulling the sheets up around her body. One of the serving maids stayed with Panthea, attending to her needs and wants while her father was gone. A woman was needed in that moment for only she could truly ward away Panthea's fears. They understood each other. The woman even pulled Panthea's head into her lap, stroking her white blonde hair and singing lullabies softly to her. The Myrmidons were ordered to stay put, all of them surrounding the tent. Menelaus' own soldiers did the same, guarding the precious cargo inside the tent.

The two experienced soldiers made their way to a private area down the beach, both calming down their tempers from what they had just witnessed. Achilles knew in his heart that the Greek camp was no place for a woman and he wanted to take her away, back to Sparta where she belonged. However, he knew that she needed her mother. Panthea missed her mother more than anything, she just didn't want to admit it.

"I apologize for accusing you of such a heinous crime. I don't know what would have happened if you weren't there to stop them. I'm glad they're dead. They deserve it." Menelaus' words were sincere as he spoke. He rarely ever thanked anyone, much like Achilles. The men were similar in some ways, but completely different as well.

"I thank you for the apology my lord, but you and I both know that is not what we are here to discuss." Menelaus nodded at Achilles' words. The two men stopped in a clearing before the woods began, both staring at the massive fields of green. They had walked quite a ways from the beach and were now approaching forests and rocky areas. "Panthea cannot stay here anymore. She needs to be safe. As of right now, I want to leave this horrible place, but if I do, my men will hate me and so will the other thousands of soldiers here. They say I am the cause of their morale, that I can win this war. I can't desert them now."

"What do you suggest then instead of taking her home?" Menelaus questioned.

"She needs to be returned to Troy, where she can be protected until this war is over. She will be safe either way If we win, we can retrieve her and if we do not then Priam will most likely send her back to you as a form of diplomatic peace."

Menelaus went to protest the idea, but held his tongue as he thought it over. Perhaps Achilles was right. Panthea would be more secure behind the walls of Troy then in her home city where Menelaus' advisors remained and would try and corrupt the girl. He didn't trust any men around his daughter now, except for Achilles. "Go on," he spoke, "I'm listening." A plan was set in motion as the two kings conversed over the important matter. They would solve this problem together, not as soldiers, but as men concerned over the wellbeing of the one they loved most.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Panthea questioned Achilles as they made their way on Apollis through the dense forest. It was nighttime and the cool air began to bite at Panthea's face when the wind began to blow through the trees. She pulled her wool cloak tighter around her body as she held onto Achilles' middle. Even her own steed was shivering from the wind.

"It's a surprise," Achilles answered, his voice giving away nothing. Panthea rolled her eyes at the comment, but stayed quiet as they continued through the forest. Achilles had been acting strange the past few days. It was as if she was glass to him and any loud noise or abrupt movement would break her. They hadn't made love for the past few nights, Achilles holding Panthea in his arms. He wouldn't touch her at all and he only kissed her on the forehead. Panthea understood because of her ordeal, but that did not mean she would shirk away from his embrace. In fact, she would welcome it if he tried. She wanted to be loved by him and only him.

Coming across a singing brook, Achilles dismounted before helping Panthea off Apollis. He nickered at her as Achilles tied him to a tree, letting him graze. She was slightly confused as to why they had come there, but she would not complain. Noticing her confused expression, Achilles stepped back and began to undress.

"I thought we could take a swim at night, just the two of us." Achilles unstrapped his sandals as he talked, having already shed his cloak and sword. Panthea blushed as he took off his chiton, reveling his naked body to her eyes. He had no shame walking around in all his glory. He took in her flushed appearance and smirked as he stalked toward her. "Now are you going to take this off or do I need to take it off for you?" he said as his fingers played with the straps of her peplos. She blushed even more and silently unlaced her cloak. It fell to the forest floor in a heap, her peplos following immediately as she obediently unclasped the pins.

Achilles let out a guttural hum of approval before yanking Panthea to him, skin on skin. He ran his coarse hands across her shoulders before trailing them down her back where they cupped her round bottom and lifted her into the air. She wrapped her thighs around his middle as he brought his lips to hers in a gentle manner. He squeezed her bottom gently, making her giggle as her hands threaded through his golden mane of hair. He continued to kiss her as he maneuvered them towards the stream, carefully taking his steps into the water because of the many rocks lining the bottom.

Panthea let out a small hiss as the water touched her body, holding Achilles closer to her body. The warrior chuckled at her reaction and waded further in until the water came to below Panthea's breasts and leveled at his stomach. They stood there silently, Achilles stroking Panthea's back while she buried her face into his neck. They held each other, neither making a move to try and initiate something more.

Gazing up at her lover with pleading eyes, Panthea pressed her lips hard onto Achilles own. She kissed him fervently as her hands roamed over every plain of his chest, every muscle on his back, and the flat skin on his stomach before moving further downward. Achilles kept his hands in place on her hips though it took every fiber of his being to not unleash the beast within. His thirst for her was killing him, but he did not want to scare her with his lust. She would give him permission first before he would ravish her.

"Achilles…" Panthea whimpered into his ear as her hands wrapped around his length. Achilles growled at the motion, his fingers digging deeper into her skin. "Please…" she continued, beginning a stroking motion around his member. Those words were all he needed to unleash his power on her.

Showing his dominance, Achilles forced his tongue into Panthea's mouth, making her groan as she awakened the lion within. He too groaned as he began his trek across her body. Panthea kept stroking his length, her pace increasing and her grip tightening when Achilles hands began to wander over her breasts.

Suddenly, Achilles turned her around so that her back forcefully slammed into his stomach. She reached back for his member so she could continue to pleasure him, but he kept her body pressed tightly against his as he behind rubbing against her from behind. His pressed small kisses onto her neck and shoulder while his hands worked magic on her soft mounds. Panthea leaned her head back against his chest, moaning as Achilles fondled her mounds and pinched her rosy buds. Her hands lay next to her sides on Achilles thighs, tracing patterns onto the skin.

Achilles then trailed one hand up to gently grab at her throat, turning her head around so that he could press a fierce kiss to her lips. The other shifted downwards to her womanhood where he began teasing her by running his fingers over her bud and stopping right before he reached her opening. It was driving Panthea crazy, her hands darting down to direct him to what she wanted. She was no match for his strength as he continued to plunder her mouth and not listen to her pleas.

Panthea whimpered into his mouth, begging Achilles for more. He grinned as he kissed her, relishing in his control over her. He could have her begging one minute and screaming in the next. Never one to disappoint a lady, he removed his hand from Panthea's neck to grab his length where he maneuvered it so that the tip was at her opening. He didn't enter her, but he rubbed himself against her while his finger continued messing with her clit. Panthea held his forearm tightly as she bucked her hips against him, her lips pursed in ecstasy as Achilles had removed his lips to her neck again where he delivered little bites that made small marks against her skin. They were his marks of ownership. She belonged to him and only him. These marks would be a reminder that Panthea was Achilles' woman.

Panthea entered a state of frenzy as she became frustrated with Achilles, wanting him inside of her instead of teasing her. Achilles noticed her irritation, loving the way he was torturing her. He wanted to play with her before he made love to her, knowing she would only last long during their love session.

"Beg for it," Achilles spoke huskily into her ear, "let me hear you scream." He removed his hand from her bud, making Panthea moan in frustration even more.

"Please Achilles. I need you. Please!" Panthea pleaded with her golden warrior. "I need you inside of me, making love to me." She could hear the growl building up in Achilles throat, knowing her words had riled him up. He plunged into her harshly, one hand wrapped around her stomach while the other went to her breasts. Panthea's voice was caught in her throat as she struggled to breath with his intense pace. Her left hand went to grip Achilles' arm wrapped around her stomach while the other went for his neck where she pulled his head downwards to kiss her.

The water sloshed around them as Achilles thrust in and out of Panthea's petite frame. He groaned silently as Panthea's walls clenched around his length and he unleashed even more of his strength, driving upwards so that he would always be fully in her. Panthea had never felt so complete. He filled every inch of space inside of her and hit her most sensitive spots perfectly. Her nails dug into his skin, drawing blood, but Achilles barely flinched. The small wounds she inflicted were little in comparison to the worst of injuries.

Both neared their orgasms, moaning into each other's mouths as they rocked their hips together. Panthea climaxed first, ripping her mouth from Achille's as she screamed his name out into the night. Hearing his name on her lips, Achilles' hot seed burst into Panthea as her walls tightened even more. He held her as her strength faded, cradling her in his arms ever so gently as he pressed small kisses to her forehead, cheeks, eyes, and mouth. Both breathed deeply as Achilles' made his way back onto the bank of the stream, laying Panthea on the grass while he retrieved blankets from Apollis' saddlebag for them to lay on.

The two gazed up at the stars as they lay on the blanket, wrapping their arms around one another and leaning close together for heat. Achilles had set up a fire next to them, Panthea not realizing what his intentions were as the fire could be seen from the watchtowers of Troy. Panthea's eyes began to droop as she was lulled to sleep by the sound of Achilles' heartbeat, snuggling closer into the warrior's chest. Achilles could not sleep, but watched intently from his position next to Panthea. Once he knew she was asleep, he dressed himself and waited for the shouts to reach his ears. He left Apollis where he left him, tied to a tree next to the riverbank. The stallion nickered at him, confused as to why he was leaving.

"Take care of her for me," Achilles spoke, stroking Apollis' mane before disappearing into the night. He hid himself in the trees, waiting for the Trojans to arrive. He knew in his heart what he was doing was noble, but there still a piece of him that wanted to whisk her back to the Greek camp. However, she would be in more danger there and he would not be selfish with his desires.

Hearing the cracking of twigs, Achilles lowered himself further so that no one could see him behind the thicket in the woods. A Trojan militia appeared, scouting the area because the lit fire had been so close to the walls. Upon realizing it was Panthea, the captain sent a messenger into the city of Troy to deliver the news. Knowing she was safe, Achilles became one with the night, stalking back to his camp as he went to tell Menelaus their plan was complete. His heart felt empty at the fact he had left her behind, but Achilles knew what he had done would secure her future. She would live no matter what side won.

* * *

Running through the palace of Troy, the messenger sent by the Trojan army hastened through the many corridors to the meeting hall where Priam and his council discussed the events of the day. Hector sat beside him, listening to the boring politics of old men. Out of breath, the messenger hurried past the guards standing watch. "My lord! My lord!" he spoke. He fell to his knees with respect in front of Priam and the prince. "The guards…they found the princess. She was sleeping in the woods. It appears she was abandoned," he finishes.

Hector's head snapped up at the statement, disbelief in his eyes. Menelaus had given his daughter up, but why? He looked to his father for his reaction, his face blank so no one would notice his true feelings towards Panthea. Only his wife had seen him so vulnerable when it came to Panthea.

"Praise be to the gods. She is safe." Priam felt as if a burden had lifted from his chest. Panthea was like a daughter to him just as Helen was and knowing she would return to Troy brought relief and happiness. "Alert Helen. She needs to know her daughter has returned. Meanwhile, I shall collect her." The messenger nodded in obedience, hurrying to Helen's chambers as the men of Troy made their way to the Spartan princess.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you like this chapter. What do you guys think will happen next?** **I am having writer's block for this story for some reason and I like to finish my stories before starting another. Suggestions are welcome. I am also going to start a poll to see who you guys want Panthea to be with. My mind is already decided, but its nice to see some feedback.**


	17. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.**

 **A/N: Next chapter up! Hello to my new followers/favs: wag11137, Forbidden-Love-0776, Lord Loptr, Hikari Meilleure, Suz Singer, Diditop, TheladyqueenBee, and Evaline101.**

 **Response to guest 1: Yes! I saw giving her to the Trojans as a type of turning point. Achilles knows Hector is more honorable, but yes, he will still worry. Still haven't decided if Troy will be taken, but yes, he would be worried then as well. Panthea will definitely be upset, but she can hold her own. Hector will find out eventually. There will be a reveal in this chapter in a sense. And yes, Achilles will control himself this time. Briseis is in Troy so she will not be really a character in this story. She will be present, but rarely. Thank you for reviewing!**

 **Response to guest 2: That is totally fine! I respect each ad very one of my reviewers' opinions. Yes exactly! Back then, 15 year olds would marry people twice or three times their age and it was acceptable because the man would have been established in society. Great! Glad to hear that. Oh of course. I totally love to see your views on what I write! Thanks for reviewing.**

 **Guest 3: Glad you liked it! Thanks for reviewing!**

* * *

 **Ch. 16**

" _ **Probability is a powerful and troublesome test; and it is by this troublesome standard that a large portion of historical evidence is sifted. Consistency is no less pertinacious and exacting in its demands."**_

 _ **~Homer, The Iliad**_

* * *

Panthea lay on the cold ground of the forest floor, one blanket underneath her lithe body while the other was wrapped snuggly around her. She had no idea of the Trojan soldiers scouting the area around her, nor when the Trojan royals arrived on the scene. Achilles remained in the shadows of the thicket, remaining there in case danger arrived. He was sure nothing would harm, but one couldn't be too careful. He was very surprised when the King and Prince of Troy arrived, wondering why they would leave the safe confines of the city when the Greeks occupied the territory. Apparently Panthea was much more important than a foreign prisoner.

Priam dismounted from his chariot, patting the driver on the back as he made his way across the ground to where Panthea lay. He motioned to his captain of the guard, asking if he or the others had found anything suspicious. The captain shook his head no, telling the king that nothing had been spotted and that if this was a trap, they would have been killed immediately as the Greeks outnumbered them.

Priam made his way towards the sleeping princess, his tired bones aching as he bent down to brush the hair back from her forehead. He held a fatherly countenance on his face as he tried to awaken her by shaking her gently. He noticed her disheveled appearance, but said nothing about it. He would not judge her for something he was not sure of.

Panthea was immediately startled by the movement, jerking upward in her sleep. Her ocean blue eyes connected with Priam's ice blue orbs in confusion and she looked around at the men surrounding them. Realizing that they were Trojans, she pulled the blanket around her tighter, grasping it to her chest to cover her nakedness. She searched for Achilles desperately, but could not find him. A sinking feeling developed in her chest and she felt as if she could scream from betrayal, but her throat was dry and she could not cry. She would not let herself. There had to be a reason why he did this and she knew it. He wouldn't just abandon her after he confessed his love to her, would he?

"It is alright my child," Priam spoke comfortingly, "You are safe now." Panthea only nodded, feeling numb. Her movements were robotic as Priam guided her to her feet and helped her to his chariot, making sure her body was covered from prying eyes. Hector's eyes scanned her body up and down, but he said nothing. His lips formed into a tight line as he took in her bedraggled appearance and he directed the men to return to Troy in a gruff manner, leaving the guards and his father behind as he hastened to the city back on his steed.

Noticing his son's behavior, Priam tried to reassure Panthea. "Do not mind him. I am sure he is happy for your safe return." The Spartan princess said nothing, but mounted the chariot in front of Priam. The driver took off towards the city as Panthea took one more look over her shoulder. All she saw was darkness, but if she had looked closer, she would have seen her golden warrior standing at the edge of the forest, a look of distraught on his face.

* * *

Achilles returned to the Greek camp, sulking as he returned to his quarters. As he passed by Menelaus, he muttered, "It is done." That was all he had to do to confirm that the plan had been carried out and that Panthea was safe. What had happened could not be undone.

* * *

Panthea's homecoming was met with a plethora of celebrations. Helen was overjoyed that her daughter was returned to her safe and sound. She would not let her out of her sight, keeping her confined to her chambers or the palace gardens. Panthea complied with her mother, following her around like a drone and barely speaking to anyone. At dinner, she would sit next to Priam as the guest of honor, but she didn't speak, didn't eat, didn't seem to move.

Hector was a completely different story. Every morning, he donned his armor, fought for hours, returned to Troy where he would bathe, dine, and the return to his chambers. The schedule was repeated everyday like clockwork. He was affected by her return in the most negative way possible. He couldn't help, but picture her the night he found her, disheveled and naked. He couldn't bear to think what she had done and his father had lectured him on not believing first impressions. It didn't matter though. His temper was like a fuse cut short and he would get angry at the drop of a pin it seemed. His smile never reached his eyes. He was never relaxed, always tense and alert. This somewhat scared his wife, who was worried about his change in behavior. She knew her husband held feelings for the Spartan princess, but now it appeared something had changed his mind.

The Trojan court was currently relaxing in one of the many palace gardens, a soft breeze fluttering through the women's dresses and hair. The women of the court relaxed under olive trees as they were fanned with peacock feathers and fed grapes as well as other fruits from silver platters. Panthea rested on one of the many chaises in the garden, her eyes closed as she laid her head in her mother's lap. Helen drew her dainty fingers through her daughter's white-blond hair, singing a lullaby under her breath.

Andromache sat across from the pair on her own chair, rocking Astyanax in her lap. She studied Panthea closely, worrying for her well-being. Her face was paler than normal and the shine had disappeared from her eyes. It seemed as if she had lost a bit of weight, but she could be mistaken because of her rather large appetite as of late. She wouldn't reveal anything to Helen or herself, but remained locked within her inner shell, hidden from the outside world.

Priam and the rest of the Trojan men were conversing about politics on the other side of the garden. None were paying attention to the antics of the women, except for Paris and Hector, both whom occasionally eyed their wives. Paris would every so often send Helen a loving smile while Hector only flitted his eyes at his wife and child to check on their well-being. More frequently, his gaze would land on Panthea and his features hardened.

Priam noticed his son's behavior, his wise eyes seeing all. His son had a dilemma of the heart, one he had experienced many times before he married Hecuba. He had been married before Hecuba and set aside his last wife for her after realizing she was his true love. Perhaps that was what Hector was experiencing and his honor prevented him from acting on those feelings or perhaps it had to do with Panthea's condition when they found her. He would talk to his son, he decided and fix this problem before it was too late.

* * *

Hector returned from the Trojan beach, bloodied and bruised from the day's excursions. His armor felt hot and heavy on his body while his helmet seemed to not be the only thing weighing down on his mind. He entered his chambers abruptly, shouting out orders for a bath to be drawn. Andromache and Astyanax were nowhere to be seen, but he liked it that way, so that he could think without their presence. His servants worked quickly, noticing their master was in one of his rare moods.

Discarding his armor, he remained in a chiton as the last of the servants poured buckets of hot water into his bath. He dismissed them, taking off the last piece of clothing on his body and sinking into the hot water. He let the steam seem into his nostrils, breathing in deeply as his thoughts overtook his mind. He pushed his hair back roughly with his hands as he placed them behind his head and closed his eyes in frustration. He had never felt this conflicted about a woman before. Granted, he never had such intense feelings either. Not even for Andromache. He loved his wife, but it was a gentle kind of love where he would do anything to care and provide security for her. She was the mother of his son and for that, he would love her for eternity. But, something was different with Panthea. She created a fire within him that would not burn out. It was if a fever had taken root and would not give up its victim. It was passion that he lacked with Andromache and yearned for with Panthea.

After washing himself, Hector stood up from his position in the bath and reached for a towel placed nearby for his use. He dried himself off, putting a fresh chiton and walking out onto the balcony where he watched the bustling city of Troy below. How simple their lives were in comparison to the prince of Troy's.

Consumed by his thoughts, he didn't hear his chambers doors open or when footsteps sounded on the tile of his bedroom floor. It wasn't until Priam cleared his throat that Hector realized he wasn't alone. Hector was surprised at his father's appearance, his moment of silence seemingly interrupted.

Noticing his son's confusion, Priam chuckled. "It seems as if you are too busy to speak in private so I took the matter upon myself to seek you out rather than call you to me. A father is allowed to speak to his son."

Hector gave his father a sheepish look, feeling guilty that he had tried to avoid his father. He knew what he wanted to discuss, but he could not bring himself to discuss it.

"I understand that there is a particular topic you do not want me to bring up. Women always seem to be the one thing we try to avoid talking about in our lives." Priam sat across from his son on one of the lounge chairs in the room, his old bones creaking as he adjusted his position. "I know that particularly woman just happens to be a Spartan princess, hmm?" he questioned his son, his eyes raising in teasing.

"Father, I think you have been mistaken."

"Do not play coy, Hector," Priam responded in a firm tone. "You are my eldest son, my heir, and of all my children, you deserve much more than you think you do. The gods have favored you beyond all others. Perhaps Panthea was sent to you for a reason."

"Father, I doubt the gods have anything to do with this." Hector was tired of his father's behavior towards the gods, knowing that half of the war was dictated by omens rather than logic.

"The gods interfere in our lives more than you think my son." Rising from his chair, Priam made his way to stand beside his son ad watch his people below as well. His hand rested on his son's shoulder in a fatherly manor. "I know you do not have as much faith in the gods as I do, but see it from this perspective. If you wish to marry the girl, you have my blessing, but you shall have to ask Helen and Paris as well. This marriage may be the key to ending the war, but it is your decision. You are my son and I love you. I can't force you."

Hector looked at his father in disbelief. All his life, he carried out his duties for his country and now his father was letting him follow his heart.

"Thank you, father," Hector spoke gratefully. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and speak with Helen." The prince of Troy quickly donned his princely attire before exiting his chambers, Priam sitting there with a satisfied smile on his face and a hearty chuckle escaping from his lips as he watched his son depart.

* * *

The person looking back at Panthea in the mirror was not herself. She wasn't even remotely close to her former self. She looked the same. She had the same white-blond hair and sapphire blue orbs. Her hair was curled to perfection, gathered up in of the most elaborate hairstyles with silver ribbons and jewels. Her dress was picked especially for her, a light blue that accented her eyes and complemented her hair color. Strapped around her waist was a silver lace belt of sorts, the same material as the veil around her head. But there was no enthusiasm, no shine in her eye, no red in her cheeks. Panthea was a ghost of her previous self.

Rising from her spot in front of the mirror, Panthea's handmaiden ushered her throughout the many corridors and stairs of the Trojan palace until they reached the grand dining hall. The oil lamps lit up the hall with their orange glow. Marble statues of Dionysus and Demeter filled the hall. Garlands of hyacinths filled the air with their delicious scent. Only the finest silverware was placed on the humongous dining table in the middle of the room. It was the only eating area present as it could hold over a hundred people. The rest of the hall was filled with musicians and entertainers for the night.

At the head of the table sat Priam, his eldest sons on either side of him. Hecuba sat next to her eldest son, in between him and his wife. Paris was seated next to Helen and an empty seat remained next to her for her daughter. "Come my child," Priam said loudly, waving Panthea towards him and attracting the attention of the courtiers. They all stared at Panthea, some in admiration, others with pity, and even a few glared spitefully at the king's attention. She blushed, staring at her feet as she walked towards the crowded table. She took her place next to her mother, who held her hand gently in hers.

"The king has an announcement to make, the topic we were discussing earlier." Panthea turned pale at her mother's words, her eyes looking up and connecting with Hector's dark orbs. Helen had discussed the topic of marriage with Panthea earlier, something the Spartan princess had been dreading. She knew it would be inevitable with her return to Troy, but her mother couldn't control her fate, not when the king favored a marriage to his son. It was for her protection, she knew it was, but it was also to make an alliance with Menelaus and finish the war. She had protested at first, throwing a fit like she had done when she was a child. She would not be controlled by anyone, even though Hector would never try to chain her. He liked her spirit, unlike most men, and he would respect her. She knew that, but her heart belonged to Achilles, even if he had given her up for some unknown reason. Yes, she had feelings for Hector. He was an honorable man, the type of man any women would be happy to have as her husband and the doting father of her children. But, she had pledged herself to Achilles. She would fight, silently, but determinedly against what fate had seemingly planned for her.

Everyone in the hall seemed to be enjoying the festivities, but Panthea. She wrapped her arms around her as an attempt to shrink further into her chair and away from the people around her. Hector observed her warily, noticing her odd behavior. He tried to smile at her as a way to comfort her, but it didn't work. It only made her more uncomfortable at the inevitable.

As the night wore on, many people changed their positions at the table, some moving to stand and converse while others changed places. A few couples even snuck off so they could have private intimate moments together, one of those couples being her mother and Paris. Panthea remained awkwardly in her seat, only speaking to Cassandra and Polydorus. Polydorus was soon to be sent to Thrace to be placed under the protection of King Polymestor if the war did not end soon. He was a sweet boy, having just reached the age of 12. His other brothers called to him and he soon disappeared among the ruckus while Cassandra was escorted to bed by her handmaiden, her mother anxious about her interaction with the public due to her affliction.

Panthea was left to her own devices, picking at her food and sipping wine from her chalice. She was so absorbed in her actions that she barely noticed when Hector came to stand behind her and places his calloused hands caressing the skin on her smooth shoulders. She froze at his touch, the two having not interacted since her return to Troy. She wasn't affronted by the contact, in fact she leaned into his touch, feeling more secure with him at her side.

It was at that moment that the clinking of a chalice could be heard and Panthea gulped nervously, her fists tightening and her nails digging into her palms. All eyes turned to Priam at the head of the hall, a joyous smile plastered on his wrinkled face. "I have an announcement to make," he exclaimed cheerfully. "I would like to make known the betrothal of my son, Hector, to the lovely Princess Panthea of Sparta in the hopes that our countries will be united and that Troy will once more be free of enemies." The hall erupted in hurrahs and loud clapping at Priam's words, Hector acknowledging them by nodding his head in thanks. Panthea remained silent, her face a combination of a grimace and a forced smile. She was screaming inside, wanting to be anywhere, but in the hall.

"May I be excused?" Panthea whispered to Hector, her stomach feeling uneasy. Hector was startled by her wavering voice, worried about her pale complexion. He nodded, holding his hand out for her to take as she stood up from the bench and crossed over to the other side. She stumbled for a moment, gasping as she felt vomit come up her throat. She held it in, swallowing the bile back down her throat. She couldn't do this, not in front of all these people.

Hector realized what was happening, quickly scooping her up in his arms and exiting the hall. Several of the courtiers sent curious looks their way, but returned to their conversations as soon as they left. Hector hastened his steps, hoping to reach Panthea's chambers before she felt sick again. She looked so pale, just like she did when they made the journey to Troy. They made it, Hector releasing Panthea from his grip and holding out an empty chamber pot to her as she emptied the contents of her stomach. He tried to help her, but she pushed him away, wiping her arm over her mouth and putting some distance between them. Her stare was cold as she looked at him.

"Why?" Panthea questioned, "Why me?" She was shaking, her body still recovering from retching.

As a man of few words, Hector didn't know how to express himself to Panthea. Instead, he inched slowly towards her, trying not to startle her with his approach. She stared at him blankly, waiting for an answer. "I can't give you a complete answer. I honestly don't understand why." Reaching up, he began to stroke her cheek with his fingers, moving them to her chin and back up again to her cheekbone. That's when her eyes bore into his, teeming with fire that had earlier been extinguished with her return to Troy. She went to speak, but her lips would not part and as he brought his face closer to hers, she could not protest. Her mind was yelling at her, but she didn't have the nerve to move.

Hector's brown orbs stared into Panthea's blue pools, recognizing the conflicting emotions in her eyes. She looked as if she would run away at any moment, but when she didn't, he took it as a sign to move closer, bending down and pressing his lips to hers. Panthea did not dare move nor did she respond to his kiss. She couldn't. She was held there by his arms encircling her and she began to crumble, by fear or want neither person could tell.

Hector held Panthea as her knees began to give, pulling her to him and pressing his body against hers. He was gentle with his kiss, pulling back for a second before pressing his lips once more on hers. His beard was rough against her face, a strong comparison to Achilles clean-shaven face. The kiss was much different as well. It wasn't filled with intensity at first, as if everything had to be zealous. It was slow and gentle. Hector did not want to rush her, but would let Panthea decide if she wanted to continue.

When Panthea didn't protest, Hector pressed his lips more firmly on hers, one arm wrapped around her waist while the other edged its way upwards where his hand cradled her face in his palm. It was then he got a reaction out of her when the kiss turned less than innocent. He wanted more, putting more pressure into the kiss and his tongue entering the caverns of her mouth. She gasped at the sensations, her lips finally moving against his in a steady rhythm. She tightly grasped the upper part of his chiton, fearing she would collapsed if she did not hold onto him tightly. Hector shifted her in his arms, the pair moving backwards as her back collided with the wall. His body pressed more firmly against hers, both feeling the spark between their bodies. His hands began to travel downwards until he tightened them into fists.

Heat began to build up in Hector's stomach, traveling throughout the rest of his body, and he had to rein himself in, ending the kiss and pressing his forehead against Panthea's. He breathed deeply, his warm breath on her face. Panthea was shaking, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as if would burst from its cage at any moment. Her hands were still placed on his chest, their grip loosened when they had broken apart.

When he had caught his breath, Hector lifted Panthea's chin up so she would look him in the eye. "Panthea," he uttered, searching her face for any sign that she had enjoyed the kiss as much as he did.

"No," Panthea muttered, pulling away from him. "This cannot happen." She tried to escape his grasp, but he held her tightly, trying not to be forceful. "I cannot do this."

"Why?" Hector questioned, holding Panthea's wrists as she continued to struggle and create some distance between them. "Why can I not have you? Tell me." Panthea shook her head refusing to answer whilst Hector suddenly pulled her against him and pressed his lips to hers firmly once more. "I love you," he said, admitting his feelings to her that he had kept bottled up for so long. "And I want to marry you." The confession shocked Panthea. Achilles had never mentioned marriage in front of her, he loved her, but he had never admitted what Hector had so easily. It was then that Hector released her, pressing a small kiss to her forehead, before he turned to leave her to her thoughts.

"Tell me, would you want to marry a woman who might possibly be carrying another man's child?" Panthea questioned, stopping Hector in his tracks. His blood ran cold at those words. She was lying. She had to be.

"No," Hector spoke to Panthea, his back to her. "You are untouched, I know you are." He turned his body back around, his face that of hurt. He was trembling as moved back towards her. Panthea shook her head, looking anywhere, but at him. "I…" she stuttered, feeling vulnerable, "My bleeding is late. I'm not sure though. It's too soon."

Hector stopped, his hands dropping back at his sides instead of reaching for her. "Who?" he gritted through his teeth, his anger taking over. It was not pointed at her, but at the man that had claimed her. Panthea did not know that though and she wrapped her arms around herself as she shrunk into the corner of the room, hoping that she could just become a shadow of the room. "Panthea," his voice softened, "Tell me."

"Achilles."

The name was enough to send Hector in a rage, another reason why the man was his sworn enemy. Another reason why he should hate the man. He had besieged his country like he had Panthea and he would be damned if he wouldn't do anything about it. "I'll send for a physician in the morning. You are not to leave your chambers until it is confirmed." He turned on his heel, his anger radiating off his body as he began to storm through the corridors.

"Hector!" Panthea exclaimed from her room, following him as he left. "Hector please, please don't be angry with me." She was crying now, her voice trembling as she wailed at Hector for forgiveness. It was the first time she said his name without his title, but it did not matter. Hector continued to walk away from her, feeling guilty as her cries echoed down the hallway until they faded into nothing.

* * *

Helen found her daughter soon after her discussion with Hector, leaning against the doors to her chamber with her face stained with tears and her voice cracking from crying so much. She gathered her in her arms, smoothing down her hair and ushering her into the room. She laid her down on the bed, singing to her until she fell asleep. Panthea revealed everything to her mother, telling her about Achilles and the argument that had just occurred with Hector.

Helen knew her daughter was scared and conflicted about everything going on around her and a child would just complicate things. She had tried so hard to teach her daughter the ways of men, but it had been no use. She had fallen into the same trap Helen had with Menelaus and again with Paris. Love was a woman's weakness. Helen knew that. Paris was her weakness. And now, Panthea was torn between two men.

* * *

Instead of returning to the dining hall, Hector traveled towards his father's private temple and prayed to the gods, something he hadn't done for quite a while. He didn't know why he did it, but he prayed all night, until the sun rose over the horizon and lifted him from his stupor. Briseis woke him, attending her daily duties as a priestess when she saw her cousin asleep on his knees, having been there all night to clear his distraught mind. She was delighted at the news of his betrothal, but seeing him there, she knew something was troubling him. He thanked her, kissing her hand before departing and readying himself for the day. The war still had to be fought and now, he had a reason to fight.

* * *

"I see much turmoil among the mortals, and all caused by our dear Panthea." Zeus chuckled at the thought, his granddaughter causing so much havoc below, just like her mother. He turned to Athena, his eldest daughter, who stroked her owl as she thought about how things could change so easily on Earth. She was Panthea's guardian and though she had changed the course of the war, now things were not going according to plan. Two men were mortal enemies when they should have been allies, all because of a woman. Panthea would fix this dilemma, Athena knew she would. Perhaps she would intervene herself, but that was too much for a goddess. Mortals did not deserve to be in her presence.

However, there was some good news with Panthea's return to Troy. The men were now against Agamemnon more than ever. It was winter and they were restless. The fighting would end soon and the next few months would drag out until no one would want to fight for a war without a real reason. Athena smiled brightly at her father. "Did you expect anything less?" The two laughed heartily and continued to look down upon the mortals below, deciding on when to insert themselves into matters of fate.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed! Reviews welcome!**


	18. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.**

 **A/N: Hey guys! I know some of you were pretty upset about the last chapter and some of you will be conflicted about this chapter as well. A note for all of you: Panthea has feelings for both men, they're just stronger for Achilles as of right now. I have an outline in my mind, but not sure how things will play out. It's up to you guys so please vote in my poll or send me a message on what you guys think! Thank you all for staying with me throughout the progress of my story. Getting your reviews makes my day! And welcome to my new followers/favs: Lauren C. Powell, Lovelybaka, leni18, IfWeDare, NadiixD, HPuni101, Lunar678, Saphirblau, KyraSif, DropDeadAlready, Katelynn Snow, and sclark7. Also, I wanted to point out that I am going back to college soon so updates will be once or twice a month.**

 **Response to Guest: It's not that Panthea doesn't love Hector, she just hasn't realized her true feelings yet. She cares for him, but not as much as Achilles. And she didn't necessarily doom herself. Hector is honorable and would never force her to do anything harmful or that she didn't want. She understands the importance of the marriage and therefore, had not protested really because it could essentially end the war in Priam's eyes. And you will see Achilles this chapter and find out that detail for yourself. And yes, Priam does. There will be a moment between Panthea and him soon. As a father, he kind of knows everything haha. Thank you for reviewing!**

* * *

 **Ch. 17**

" _ **The roaring seas and many a dark range of mountains lie between us."**_

 _ **~ Homer, The Iliad**_

* * *

The dawn is a beautiful thing, the way the sun rises over the horizon and the way the light kisses everything it touches. The darkness is lifted and a new day begins, each one twenty-four hours, each filled with a day's works and toils, and each witnessing trials and victories of humanity. But on this day, Panthea thought the dawn was anything, but beautiful. This was a matter of truth, a matter of importance that could change her life forever if what she thought was true. She rested her hand on her stomach, sitting up on the bed and looking behind her to see her mother and Paris intertwined. She didn't mind that Paris had snuck in during the dead of night. He was her mother's new husband and she had come to accept that. She just wished her life was simpler than being torn between two princes and not knowing if she was pregnant or not.

Achilles was the day and Hector was the night. Achilles was rash in his decisions, sometimes impulsive, while Hector was mindful. Achilles was known to be a womanizer, Hector was loyal to his wife and his mistresses before her. Achilles fought for himself and Hector, for his country and his men. Honor and glory was on Achilles agenda whilst Hector focused on survival and protection of his homeland. Yet both sought to be known forever in the history of time: one the greatest warrior while the other would be known as the tamer of horses, the Prince of Troy.

Panthea rose from her position, her white nightgown fluttering behind her as she glided across the floor. Her mind was crammed with thoughts of both men. Her fingers absentmindedly twirled a piece of her white-blond hair as she reflected on the qualities of both men, her blue eyes filled with uncertainty. She had to stop herself or else she would give herself a headache. The only thing she needed to focus on at that moment was that a physician would be examining her in her quarters soon, determining if she was to be a mother or not. She didn't know how to feel about that. Would she be a good mother? Would she know what to do when the baby was born? How would Achilles feel about this? He would have to know sooner or later.

Panthea's worries were interrupted by a knock at the door. The sound echoed loudly in the room, but she was rooted to her spot, unable to move. She was unnerved by the noise, knowing her future would be told once the physician stepped into the room. Another knock was heard, but Panthea would not move. Helen and Paris were both awoken by the sound, wiping the sleep out of their eyes and looking up to see a terrified Panthea at the foot of the bed. Helen understood immediately, pointing Paris to the door while she took Panthea in her arms and sat her down on the bed. Panthea welcomed her mother's embrace, burying her head into her shoulder like she did when she was a child. She felt safe, protected in her mother's arms.

When Paris returned from opening the door, it was not a physician, but a midwife, that walked by his side. This would be less embarrassment for Panthea if a woman was to examine her and not a man. Seeing Panthea' scared expression, the woman shushed her immediately, telling her that there was nothing to worry about and that the information learned that day would not leave the room. She had delivered the princes and princesses of Troy and was a trusted servant. Panthea's secret would not leave the room if she had one to keep.

The midwife was quick in her examination, feeling Panthea's breasts for any sign of firmness or fullness and asking her about nausea. She then grabbed a few things from her satchel and mixed a concoction of herbs and other ingredients, handing it to Panthea to drink. The mixture was disgusting, making Panthea cough and her face making a sour expression. The midwife laughed at her reaction, saying it was normal for all women. Panthea giggled with her as well until she got a sickly feeling in her stomach. The mixture was making her feel nauseous and Panthea did not like it one bit. She could feel the bile running up her throat like it did the night before. As if on reflex, the midwife grabbed a chamber pot quickly and held it out to her as Panthea vomited. The woman patted her back, reassuring her that her reaction was again normal.

Helen looked anxious, Paris wrapping his arm around her in comfort as he noticed her worried expression. She remembered having to be examined to see if she was pregnant. Her mother-in-law would just inspect her bedsheets, ask about her bleedings, and feed her the vilest food ever. Helen didn't remember having to drink anything though. Seeing her daughter in this condition answered her question and she shook her head in exasperation. She did everything she could to prevent her daughter from doing something like this, but it seemed like all her pushing and coddling made her fall into the arms of Achilles.

The midwife finished her examination shortly, a happy smile on her face that held an edge of concern only Helen could see. They were both mothers and therefore would react the same to their daughter becoming pregnant without being married. Although the midwife knew Panthea was engaged to Hector, she knew it was not his child, henceforth why she had been sworn to secrecy under pain of death. She wouldn't judge her like the Trojan court women would, but instead looked at Panthea's case through her own eyes. She gave herself to someone she loved and no woman should be punished for that. For propriety sake, she would urge Hector to marry Panthea immediately to avoid gossip and belittlement.

"Well my dear," the midwife spoke, "You are going to be a mother within the next year." Panthea felt as if the air had been sucked out from her lungs, her heart stopping at the midwife's words. She was pregnant, the child of Achilles within her womb. She looked down at her stomach, not seeing any changes herself. It didn't look like a baby was growing in there and when she laid her hand on her covered stomach it didn't feel rounded like it should. "Your body will change in time. Don't look so bothered about it. By the fourth month you should start showing. The babe is only the size of a date right now, barely growing yet." Reaching into her bag, she grabbed a few tonics and herbs that she should take during her pregnancy. She advised her what to eat and what not to eat, what activities she could participate now and what she could not do later in her pregnancy.

It was a lot for Panthea to take in, being only sixteen years old and much too young to be a mother. Helen was only a year younger when she delivered Panthea and seeing her daughter as scared as she was, melted her heart. Panthea looked at her mother with a combination of fear and elation. All of this was happening so quickly. Yesterday she was just Panthea of Sparta, a guest of the King of Troy. Today she was Panthea of Sparta, future mother of the child of Achilles, and betrothed to Hector, Prince of Troy. Her head was spinning and she felt as if she would collapse at any second.

"I'll leave you in peace my lady. If there is anything you need you may only call for me." The midwife bowed before she exited the room, wanting to give the princess time to dwell things over. She noticed that the air in the room had turned slightly uncomfortable and immediately knew it was time for her to leave. Helen barely noticed her departure, focusing on Panthea, but Paris nodded to her in thanks. She exited as quietly as possible, the door closing silently behind her. Not until she started walking down the corridor did she notice Hector's presence. He was ruminating in an alcove in the hall, consumed by his thoughts. Noticing the midwife's approach, he stepped out from his hiding place, his dark eyes lit up with question. Dark circles could be seen under his eyes, an indication he had not been able to sleep and that he was not going into battle that morning. The troops would have rest for the day and soon enough, the fighting would stop due to the start of winter.

"I have confirmed it," the midwife whispered to Hector, scanning the hall for any intruders. Only the guards on post stood in the hall. This information could not get out to the public or Panthea would be ruined. "She is with child." As soon as those words left her lips, she was gone, briskly walking down the corridor and out of sight. The guards had watched their interaction curiously, but said nothing as it was not their place. Besides, they could not hear what had been exchanged anyways.

Hector returned to his previous position, slouching against the wall and sliding downwards to sit on the floor. He looked defeated as he brooded in his tiny hiding place, his hands curled up into fists and his jaw clamped tight. His eyes darkened even more than usual, filled with anger for Achilles, the man who had taken what he wanted, what he thought he deserved to have. But then, he considered how Panthea was feeling at that moment. It wasn't about him, it was about her, the woman he loved. He could picture her scrunched up into a little ball, scared and vulnerable. Of course, there would also be some joy in the news, but she was likely focusing on how he would react, how things would play out in the course of things. Hector would make things right though. As the honorable crown prince of Troy, it was not only his duty, but what was right. He would help Panthea through this, he declared to himself, even if it broke him he would.

Hector pushed himself off the marble floor and straightened his attire, making sure nothing was out of place. An imposing expression lit up on his face, commanding attention as he strode through the corridors and towards Panthea's chambers. The guards in the hall stood more erect as he passed, respecting their next king.

The doors to Panthea's chambers creaked opened, Hector surprising everyone with his presence. Helen and Paris looked concerned at his appearance whilst Panthea looked scared beyond belief. Her hand clutched her stomach desperately as she backed up cautiously onto the bed, the sheets crinkling around her as she lifted her knees to her chest to block her stomach from view.

Turning to Helen and Paris, Hector spoke, "May I speak with Panthea? Alone?" His voice held no hint of ire, only an earnest tone that was opposite of what everyone had expected. The pair acquiesced to Hector's question, Helen sending one last fleeting look at her daughter before they slipped out of the room.

Only the sound of breathing and the clinking of chimes on the veranda were heard. Neither person in the room dared to speak first due to the awkward aura in the room. Panthea kept shifting her gaze from Hector's figure to the floor back to Hector again and then changing her attention to something else that would divert her attention from the man in front of her. Hector's gaze was constant, his dark eyes focused on Panthea and only her. He was scrutinizing her, trying to see how she was feeling about this news. That was all that mattered now. It was going to be about her, not him.

Slowly, Hector moved towards the nervous Spartan princess, making sure to not seem intimidating or forceful in his actions. Panthea stayed put, her eyes now fixated on Hector when she realized he was coming towards her. She began trembling at his approach, her blue orbs staring up at him with trepidation. Seeing her expression, Hector kneeled before her, his hands coming to lay on the top of Panthea's feet. She was startled at first, but realized he was only rubbing his fingers against the smooth skin. He was trying to reassure her that he meant no harm, that he was not angry with her at all. Looking at his face, she saw he was calm and his eyes held no fire in them, only concern. She relaxed immediately, her tense figure loosening and her breathing normal again.

Noticing her change in behavior, Hector eased himself onto the bed next to Panthea, making sure there was some space between them. He let out a loud sigh, turning towards her to speak. He hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as he decided how to word what he felt. Panthea noticed his dilemma, thankful that she was not the only one feeling awkward about the situation. After all, he was the one who had sent the midwife in a fit of rage after she told him of her findings. He was her betrothed now as well, making the situation even more precarious for the two of them.

"I apologize for my behavior as of late. It was wrong of me." Hector's voice was low and husky as he spoke, his gaze lingering on Panthea. Panthea stayed silent, staring anywhere other than at Hector. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, to get caught in those dark abysses Hector possessed.

Hector made the first move, scooting closer and taking Panthea's hands in his. He brought both up to his lips, kissing them softly. The gesture made Panthea blush as well as caused her attention to now be directed at Hector and him alone.

"I promise I will do everything in my right to help you. This is about you…and your child." Hector's words soothed Panthea's nerves, her anxiety completely fading away. She thought when the news was revealed to him, that he would be furious, that he would confine her to her rooms and lock her away until the child was born. But, he was being selfless and kind to her, the side of him that she loved. He did everything he could for his people and now he was doing the same thing for her. Her knees fell away from her chest, her legs now touching Hector's as the tense atmosphere disappeared.

"You're not upset with me?" Panthea questioned, her eyes boring into his as she looked for any sign of fury. She saw none yet again, only concern for her well-being. Hector smiled genuinely at her before reaching forward, holding Panthea's face in his palms.

"I could never be angry with you Panthea," Hector replied, rubbing his thumb against her cheek and leaning closer. Panthea's eyelashes fluttered as their eyes connected. "I understand your circumstances. I've come to realize that many women have probably done what you have. I know I'm not your first choice but, I only ask that you consider me an alternative, for your safety as well as your unborn babe. I won't have you scrutinized because of your decision."

Panthea's face softened at his words, grateful that Hector understood her now and would protect her. She drew one of his hands up, pressing a small kiss into his palm. She didn't know why she did it, but she knew her gesture would cause peace between them. She could hear Hector's slight intake of breath, but neither addressed it. Instead, Hector drew Panthea into his arms.

"I promise nothing will happen to you," Hector continued, one arm wrapping around her waist while the other went around her neck, Hector's fingers stroking Panthea' fine hair. Panthea leaned her head against his chest, her hands flattened against his chest. She felt secure in his arms, knowing that he would stay by her side. The pair stayed like that throughout the morning, Hector there to reassure Panthea while the Spartan princess thought about the future of her child... and Achilles.

* * *

Achilles had not fought since Panthea was returned to the Trojans. He refused to, forcing his men to comply with his orders. They complained at first, but with the sharp look of Achilles, all were silenced or else they would face his wrath. It didn't matter though, since winter was coming. The men were bored beyond belief as well as freezing and hungry. The Myrmidons had come well prepared, but many parts of the Greek camp were not. Some of the women brought with them had even been cast out from camp, many pregnant or already having children from the men there. They had been left to fend for themselves, a harsh, but cruel reality of war.

Currently the golden warrior was lounging in his tent, sharpening his sword. Even though the fighting had paused for a period, that did not mean he should stop the upkeep of his weapons. His armor was shined daily, his shield was amended, and his sword sharpened in case of surprise attacks. He was at peace while performing daily chores a warlord would have shirked and given to his servants. Many believed they didn't have time to be a true warrior. They were to busy or conceited to bother, but not Achilles.

However, Achilles' silence was interrupted by the last person he expected. Patroclus would appear daily for his lessons, Odysseus would visit to talk, Eudorus would discuss his daily tasks with Achilles, and sometimes, even Menelaus came to speak about matters of war as well as Panthea with him. The person who entered his domain was bold, but then again, she didn't know her place. It was the woman he had brought to Troy with him and had given to Odysseus, though the man had given her to his men for amusement. He didn't know why she was there, but it annoyed him, his blue eyes darkening. In her hands, she carried a tray of food, a luxury item in this time. He knew right then that it had been sent my Agamemnon. He was buttering him up for some reason.

"Leave it there," Achilles spoke, his voice authoritative as he motioned to one of the barrels of water kept in his room. He turned back to his work and waited for her to leave, but she stood there silently, her silver eyes waiting for something. He internally growled, irritated that the girl did not know her place. He would have to speak to Odysseus about her behavior. When he lifted his eyes from his task, he froze. The woman stood before him naked, her black hair cascading around her shoulders like a veil.

Achilles eyes were immediately glued to the woman's body, scanning up and down. He felt that feeling of want in his veins, the craving of sex that he had been deprived of. He licked his lips, his blue eyes turning black with desire. He rose from his position, stalking towards his prey, but then, his gaze hardened and the feeling of want turned to disgust. His face still held the expression of a predator, but now fury etched its way in as well. He continued to stride towards the woman, her confident attitude now turning to fright at Achilles' animalistic expression. She knew it was not hunger for her any more. The passion he had a second ago was directed elsewhere, replaced with dander at her daft attempt to seduce him. He wouldn't fall for it, not when his loyalty would forever be to Panthea. She backed up against the confines of the tent, shaking in fear at the punishment Achilles would supposedly give her. Snatching the woman's clothes off the floor, Achilles dragged her to the opening of the tent. She hissed at his harsh grip on her arm, but Achilles did not care. He stopped abruptly and shoved her clothes over her head before shoving her out.

"Let this be a warning to you," Achilles gritted through his teeth. The Myrmidons paused in their actions and watched the spectacle with amusement in their gazes. They knew better than to interrupt Achilles, only Eudorus dared to do so. "Undress yourself in my presence again and I won't be so lenient. Next time, you'll be paraded around the camp and trust me, the men won't be able to control themselves like I just did." Achilles disappeared back inside the confines of his tent, while the woman looked on the verge of tears, hurrying away before the great Achilles could embarrass her more.

Watching from his own tent, Agamemnon frowned at the scene in front of him. Achilles was no longer tempted by women. It would be much more difficult to convince him to join the war effort when winter ended. And if Achilles didn't fight, the morale of the men would deplete even more than it already had. He needed to think of a plan and quickly, before the war began once more.

* * *

Winter had set in on the beaches of Troy. The wind blew wildly through the sand, striking soldiers' eyes if they dared to enter the outside world during the winter storms. The waves were brutal, crashing against the Greek ships with a domineering force that threatened their existence. With the combined attacks of sand and water, the men were growing restless. Sometimes they starved for days before a hunting party was sent out for supplies, most likely sacking another city surrounding Troy whose defenses were not up to par against the Greek forces. Other times, their anger got the better of them. Comrade was against comrade and more often than not, a dead body would be lying on the beach because of a quarrel over something silly.

However, inside the city of Troy, all was well. There was no beach weather to deter any one's mood nor deplete supplies within the city. Troy was well prepared for that winter and many more to come. The citizens within still thrived, going about their daily lives as if there was no war. Of course, some people such as fishermen and sailors were deprived of their profession, but the city of Troy provided more jobs for them until the work was over. Many were training to be soldiers while others took up needed trades such as being a blacksmith. Some even had managed to be smuggled out of Troy and further into the mainland where they had decided to start fresh and further themselves from the war.

Within the palace, no ills plagued the royals or their courtiers. Only laughter and cheer filled the hall. Hector and Panthea were to be married before her condition started to show. She was about eight weeks pregnant, but her stomach had barely started to round. She had decided that for her welfare as well as her child's, she would marry Hector and perhaps with her marriage would come the end of the war. However, she loved Achilles and everyone knew that. Hector had come to accept the fact, though deep down the confession still stung him. He still vied for her affections, but never crossed the line between friend and lover. He doted on her as any fiancé would, spoiling her with small gifts and showing signs of affection, but he wouldn't dare kiss her again for fear it would startle her and their relationship would run awry again.

At the current moment, Panthea sat at the vanity in her room, her handmaiden brushing her hair. It soothed the princess's nerves, her anxiety getting the best of her as she shook with anxiousness. She was to be married that afternoon, in front of the entire city of Troy. Even though she had accepted the offer, she still felt as if she was betraying herself, betraying Achilles. But, if he had wanted to marry her then why had he abandoned her in the woods so she could be found by the Trojans? She knew it had to do with her safety, but then again, if she had married Achilles wouldn't that have granted her security, being the wife of the most powerful warrior? Apparently, Achilles had seen differently.

The _proaulia_ had already occurred, a pre-wedding ceremony that had included a sacrifice to the gods and feasting the day before. Another tradition occurred, once that represented the passage of childhood into adulthood. A single lock of hair had been cut from Panthea's head, singling her bond with adulthood as well as those of the gods who would now protect her during the transition.

Helen and Andromache were in the room as well as Hecuba, Cassandra, and a select few Trojan courtiers. They were all ordering the servants around as they prepared for the wedding as well. Both were wearing peplos of dark blue, the royal color of Troy. Astyanax was peacefully sleeping in his crib, the carved lion his father made for him held firmly in his hand. He was a year old now and more active than ever.

The handmaiden continued her task, brushing Panthea's hair until the tangles were gone. She then took individual pieces of hair, braiding them and then fixing them into an elaborate hairstyle that many of the Trojan ladies wore. She then began placing tiny silver clips into her hair, all of which were set with diamonds and sapphires. The accessory accented Panthea's coloring nicely and would go with her wedding dress beautifully. Speaking of the dress, Panthea let her robe fall off her shoulders and it tumbled onto the ground, leaving her naked in the room full of women. Helen and Andromache gathered the dress in their hands, slipping it over her lithe figure and securing it at the shoulders with silver pins. It was a beautiful garment, white in color with a navy-blue ribbon to wrap around under her breasts. The dress molded with her curves, the tops of her globes peeking out from the material. She blushed at the dress, noticing how the dress accented her body. A silver leaf crown was then placed on her head by Hecuba, a special gift commissioned by both herself and Priam to celebrate her son's marriage. Panthea smiled at the Queen, nodding her head in thanks for the special gift. Hecuba smiled back, placing kisses on both her cheeks before stepping aside so the veil could be placed on her head as well. All in the room admired Panthea's beauty, some even envied her at that moment. Panthea hoped the citizens of Troy wouldn't give her the same expressions the Trojan ladies were giving her. She hated to be watched and scrutinized.

A knock was then heard at the door, signaling that it was time for the ceremony to begin. Panthea froze, her wedding nerves getting the best of her. Helen was at her daughter's side immediately, holding tightly to her hand in reassurance while Andromache smiled encouragingly at her. Astyanax was now awake and giving her a chubby grin as he was held in his mother's arms. That little grin melted Panthea's heart, her fear fading away.

Hecuba led the ladies of the court into the grand hall, her head held high as she walked like the queen she was. Her ladies followed her loyally, behind Panthea as Andromache and Helen escorted her on either side. All eyes were on them as they entered, walking to the head of the room where Priam and Paris stood next to Hector under a canopy of hyacinths intertwined with golden strings. Hector looked magnificent, a golden leaf crown in his dark curls. He wore his traditional armor, a chiton of the dark blue of Trojan royalty underneath. He looked every inch the next king of Troy.

Hector's dark orbs were locked on Panthea as she glided down the aisle. He couldn't help himself. She was an image of beauty, a gift sent by the gods. And besides, he wouldn't stop staring just because others thought it was slightly inappropriate. He was to be Panthea's husband and she was all his. Panthea caught his eye for a moment, blushing and staring at her feet as she continued walking. Hector merely grinned at her reaction. The interaction made Priam chuckle as he watched the two. He was gladdened by such a joyous occasion in this time of war.

Reaching their destination, Hecuba and her ladies departed whilst Andromache and Helen stepped to the side. Paris was the one to lead Panthea to the altar, taking her trembling hand in his as they walked towards the head of the Trojan dynasty and his successor. Paris placed her small hand in Hector's, but not before giving her an encouraging squeeze and a kiss to the side of her forehead. It was the first gesture of affection he had ever shown her, but it gave her the strength to continue. Priam clasped their hands together, his own laying gently on top of theirs in a heartwarming gesture before he stepped aside for the High Priest.

The High Priest began to speak the words of old, reciting the lines that had been repeated for thousands of years to marry man and woman. A sacrifice occurred first in honor of the marriage, then the cutting of a piece of hair from Panthea's head was performed to signify her expected virginity, and finally, holy water from a _loutrophoros_ was poured on both persons' heads so the gods could bless the marriage. Panthea and Hector stood silently, exchanging their vows when the time came, Hector promising to be a protective and caring husband while Panthea would be an obedient and loving wife. The ceremony was finished when Hector slid a ring onto Panthea's ring finger, a lapis lazuli set into the precious metal with the royal seal of Troy pictured. He leaned forward slightly, one hand cradling her small head in his palm while the other held her hand as he kissed her, sealing their marriage forever. This kiss was light, but promising, Panthea knowing he was trying to make this as comfortable as possible for her.

The crowds erupted into loud cheers with the ending of the ceremony, flowers being thrown into the air and onto the aisle as the married couple walked through the palace of Troy, down the palace steps, and into the city where they greeted their people face to face in a formal viewing. Many had seen the ceremony from their balconies or heightened positions in the city and now the shouts were even louder as they viewed the married couple in person. The celebration had already begun, many dancers and entertainers spread throughout the city and in the palace. The newlywed couple greeted the people, Hector more enthusiastically as a shy Panthea peeked from behind and waved shyly at the citizens of Troy. These were her people now and she had fully accepted her fate as a princess of Troy.

The celebration died down in the early hours of the morning, Hector and Panthea slipping from their seats in the banquet hall and into their shared quarters while a few partygoers carried on. A grand feast had been held in their honor as well as many performances by dancers, actors, fire-eaters, and other entertainers hired for the evening. Everyone was elated, shouting blessings at the married couple and drinking heavily from their wine chalices in rejoicing. Everything was perfect and went according to plan. But now, a sleepy Panthea was being carried by her new husband into their room. Andromache was in another chamber, as was expected of her as it was Panthea's wedding night and many expected a certain something to occur.

But nothing happened. Hector behaved nobly as he merely laid Panthea down in their bed. He took care in removing her crown and veil so she could sleep better and removing his own ceremonial clothing before climbing into the bed beside her. He wouldn't dare sleep naked in their bed for fear of crossing boundaries and he wouldn't pull her against him, only if she asked would he do such a thing. He stared down at her as she slept, caressing her face softly and placing a chaste kiss on her forehead before he settled down to sleep.

However, Panthea was not fully asleep, just pretending to be so and her eyes fluttered open as she stared at the man beside her. She was grateful for his behavior towards her, knowing any other man would have demanded his marital rights. She was also grateful for his protection, knowing he would keep her safe and do anything in his power for her wellbeing. She pondered in her mind for a moment before deciding to make the next step, something Hector would surely appreciate and see as a gesture of affection. She scooted across the bed and into his arms, her face and hands pressed into his chest. She was immediately enveloped by his warm embrace and coincidently, his face lowered as she removed hers from his chest and their lips met in a brief, but meaningful kiss. Their lips moved together in sync, Hector being tender as she allowed him this gift, and when they both pulled away, Panthea returned to her position in his arms. Hector only held her tighter, both soon drifting into the unconscious as they listened to the sounds of each other's breathing and heart beats. Panthea had never felt safer.

* * *

Achilles knew what had happened as he stared at the walls of Troy with a venomous glare. He wasn't an idiot. He knew by the loud cheers, blazing fires, and blaring music that a joyous occasion had occurred for the Trojans, but not quite so for him. He knew in his gut that it involved Panthea, but it was his fault. He had pushed her into the arms of the enemy. Agamemnon knew too as he leered evilly at Achilles' quarters from his own tent. He didn't need to do anything at all. Achilles rage had returned and aimed at the Prince of Troy, he knew come spring that the war would be rekindled, he knew that the golden Achilles would fight.


	19. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.**

 **A/N: Hey guys! Sorry about the super late update. I promise I didn't disappear. Hello to my new followers/favs: mickey mouse17, drowninginyourlove, NightStalkerBlade, kitsune-miko-witchIania1496, Tsuki no Yasha, xtremedival13, jampotter, nina32177, bella cullen the original, itachiluver, kvdsouza, gjoyce95, Leandraviv, NotSureHowToMingle, The-Kiwi-Lover, The Witch of Dreams, P. , Lugm58, svls1234, CrazyAboutLove, NymphadoraBlackMalfoy, ArCee-928, DevilsDelusionalMistress, marauder4eternity, Unique514, .clouds.0607, AngelWitch96, sheepinkgirl, katieroseanna, S. Apollymi, Scarlett D. Uchicha, and bratstopmom84. Special thanks to Diablo who has been checking in me! I really appreciate it!**

* * *

 **Ch. 18**

" _ **My happiness is not in the gift of others. I will be happy or I will not be happy. No man will supply it or deprive me of it."**_

 _ **~ David Gemmell, Lord of the Silver Bow**_

* * *

It was midday when Panthea woke in her chambers, exhausted from nightmares the night before. It was always the same, either Achilles or Hector covered in blood, sinking to their feet as they died from their wounds. Panthea would wake up in a cold sweat, tears streaming down her face as she cried into the darkness. Either Hector and Andromache or Helen and Paris would rush into the room, each pair switching off each night to comfort the fear ridden princess. She wouldn't reveal to them what had happened, but would cry into their arms until the sobbing stopped. They would fall asleep, but Panthea would remain awake, staring into nothing as she played the vision over and over in head, rubbing her stomach comfortingly as if the child within knew she was trying to protect him or her. However, there was no present in the chamber except for a nursemaid that was caring for Astyanax in front of the fire.

Panthea was four months pregnant now, her stomach showing greatly. The astrologers had already started making predictions on the sex of the baby and its due date at the order of Priam, who was exuberant at the prospect of having another grandchild, even if it was not biologically his. Most of them said it was a son, the next heir to Troy, because of the way she was carrying the babe while one remained firm it was a girl because of the alignment of the stars when she supposedly conceived. Panthea and Priam had become closer over the last three months, him visiting her daily and checking after her welfare. He had become another father figure to her and she would attend daily prayer with him in his private temple as well as discuss matters of war, a topic most women had been excluded from, but since Panthea was an experienced fighter, Priam enjoyed her advice.

Panthea then began to sit up in her bed, wiping the sleep from her eyes drowsily. Seeing her wake, Astyanax struggled in the nursemaid's grasp, his hands reaching out towards Panthea excitedly. Panthea noticed immediately, Astyanax's whining cries alerting her of his behavior. She giggled at the nursemaid as she scolded Astyanax, but when Panthea went over to retrieve the baby, the nurse stopped her actions and rose to her feet with an embarrassed expression on her face. Astyanax was a little over a year now and walking, though not steadily. Taking the baby from her arms, Panthea dismissed the maid with a nod of her head, leaving her and Astyanax alone. She bounced him in her arms, making little cooing noises at him which made him throw his head back in glee.

Walking around the length of the room, Panthea noticed a platter of food and pitcher of water had been left for her on the dining table in the room. Her stomach growled at that moment, making her realize how hungry she was. Walking towards the table, she drew a chair out to sit on before she placed herself at the table. She put Astyanax down by her feet, the baby pulling himself up and holding onto her knees while she began eating ravenously. She had definitely observed that she was now eating for two, her protruding stomach a reminder every day.

While Panthea was eating, the door to her chambers opened quietly, Hector walking into the room silently as he still believed Panthea was sleeping. The fighting had stopped for winter, Hector enjoying a break from war, but it would soon rise up again with the coming of spring. Upon seeing her awake, Hector closed the door before leaning his back against it and standing there while he gazed at an unaware Spartan princess. He admired her, the way she smiled down at Astyanax while juice from a melon was dripping from her lips. The air was slightly chilly, but the sun still shone in threw the balcony, highlighting Panthea's white-blond hair and shedding light on her beautifully rounded stomach. She looked like a goddess, her hair forming a halo around her head. Hector smiled to himself, wondering how it was he had come to possess such a perfect sight.

Hector edged his way towards Panthea, his eyes never leaving her form. Hearing his steps, Panthea lifted her eyes from Astyanax. Her eyes connected with his, making her face blush slightly at his intense gaze. Her eyes drifted back to Astyanax and she lifted him into her lap, but the exchange had already happened. Astyanax snuggled into her arms, now playing with one of his many toys that littered the tiled floor. He was oblivious to the sexual tension that now filled the air.

Hector came up behind Panthea, his hands resting on her bare shoulders. His tan skin contrasted greatly with her pale white skin and his calloused hands stroked the smooth skin of her shoulders. Panthea shivered, she couldn't help it. And when he moved her hair behind her neck, his hands now drifting to the skin there, she held in a deep breath, her heart fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird. She couldn't move, she was glued to the spot by the heat of Hector's hands alone. Hector was the complete opposite, himself holding back the prowler within. His hands were steady, but he was holding back so much intensity. And just when the room couldn't get any more filled with tension, Panthea took a chance and turned her head, catching his eye and the prince's calm facade thawed away immediately. His grip tightened slightly on her neck, his eyes darkened with want, and he licked his lips as if he were a predator eyeing his prey.

Suddenly, Hector removed his hands from Panthea's neck, the departing heat making her tremble, and he grabbed Astyanax from her arms, placing him in his cradle immediately. The baby wasn't startled from his actions, but settled into the blankets comfortably while his father turned his attention to the woman before him. Panthea was still frozen to the spot, a feeling of arousal running through her veins as Hector prowled towards her. Her eyes held a glazed look while his were filled with desire and resolve. He had made up his mind. He had played the unforceful, caring, undemanding husband for too long, and now he would have what he wanted. Panthea recognized his demeanor immediately and she gulped audibly.

However, Panthea didn't shrink away when Hector reached for her nor did she reject the smoldering kiss he planted on her lips as he pulled her up from her seat and into his arms. Instead, she melted into his warmth, reaching for him as desperately as he reached for the flesh at her waist. They were entwined together, Panthea standing on her tiptoes to reach Hector's lips, her hands tangled in his curly dark locks while Hector's hands began to drift upwards, cupping her face in his hands. There was no space between the two and they pressed their bodies together even more as if there was still something separating them. There was though, her ever-growing stomach, and so their bodies were pressed in a way so as not to harm her stomach.

It became more animalistic in the next moment, Hector's hands moving to undo the pins on Panthea's dress, the flowy material falling to her waist. She stood half way naked in front of Hector and he stepped back to gaze at her luscious body. Her breasts were fuller, her stomach rounded, and stretch marks were beginning to show on her body. She felt as if she needed to cover her body, his eyes roaming over her so intently it made her feel conscious with her growing stomach. Hector only smiled at her flustered appearance, nearing her again before resuming kissing her and pressing his body firmly against hers. He kissed her collarbone, her neck, her cheeks, her forehead, and her eyes before he placed his lips back on her mouth, his tongue entering the heat of her mouth gently as she bit his lip in response. A moan poured from Hector's lips and the feeling of possession he had for her made him practically haul her onto her bed.

The pair fell unceremoniously onto the piece of furniture, Panthea's dress wrapped around her legs while Hector's warm body loomed over hers, careful not to crush her stomach. Their lips were still connected though their hands traveled the length of each other's body. Panthea's hands locked behind his neck, her nails digging into the back of his neck. Hector's large, calloused hands roamed everywhere. One remained attached to her hip, massaging the flesh there, while the other palmed her breasts gently, Hector knowing they were sensitive. Panthea arched into him, her breasts pressing against his hand and her stomach pressing against the tight abs of his own stomach. Hector groaned, loving the feeling of more skin on skin. His hands began to drift lower, inching closer and closer to where the dress had pooled around her waist. He halted for a moment, before smirking at her and pulling the material down over her legs. Panthea was now on full display for her eyes and she never felt more vulnerable. She had felt the same way with Achilles, but this was different. It was Hector. He was similar to the golden lion, but he was different in his own. He too was a dominant figure, but more like a stallion.

Hector was anything, but aggressive as he leaned back down to cover Panthea with his body. He thought Panthea was beautiful, her white blond hair splayed around her like a goddess. She held a content look on her face, eyes glassy as she stared up at him with trust and something almost akin to love. Her arms stretched forward for him, welcoming his body into hers. He knew she had feelings for him, but he didn't know if she loved him as he loved her.

"How is it fair that I'm completely bare while you have all your garments on?" Panthea questioned teasingly, giggling as Hector looked taken aback by her words. Her fingers traced a path from his neck, down the front of his chest where the skin was exposed, and finally stopped at his belt. His eyes darted from her hand and back to her eyes, her blue orbs captivating him. "Take them off," she spoke sharply, all seriousness in her facial expression. He obeyed her command quickly, shedding his chiton quicker then he ever had and discarding his sandals on the floor.

Yet, Hector didn't return to his position over top of her but began to pull her down the length of the bed until her legs hung off the side. Panthea raised herself on her elbows for a moment, wondering what the prince of Troy was doing. His eyes didn't stare at her, but at her sex and before she knew it, his lips had descended on her most private region. Panthea threw her head back, a combination of a whimper and moan falling from her lips. The upper half of her body collapsed back on the bed while Hector hooked his hands under her thighs, pulling her center closer. He lapped at her lips as if he were a starving man, her sweet taste filling his mouth. He groaned at the taste, making Panthea whine even more as the vibration reverberated through her core. Her hands fisted the bedsheets, her back continuing to make a perfect arch Hector could see through his hooded eyes at the edge of the bed.

Licking up the length of her center, Hector finally plunged his tongue inside, Panthea murmuring his name through her pleasure. Hector's grip hardened around her thighs, his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh and making marks. He continued to dip his tongue in and out of her center, his actions becoming quicker while his hands were more aggressive, now pulling Panthea's legs over his shoulders and his hands rubbing the skin at her hips. Panthea gave another whimper, loving how dominant Hector was being. He gave one long lick before he kissed her inner thighs and then raised himself on his elbows, staring at a breathless Panthea. She seemed out of energy while Hector's was never-ending.

With her face flushed and her chest rising quickly, Panthea looked up at Hector with lust-filled eyes. She pursed her lips at him, fidgeting beneath him as he grinned at her in satisfaction. She was under his complete control and would let him do anything to her, and he knew it. He raised himself above her, his length painfully hard, trying to control himself from ravishing her entirely. He stared at her intently, questioning whether she would allow him to go any further. Panthea nodded her head fervently, her body aching for him, and she opened her legs wide to accommodate him.

Hector grabbed himself at the length of his base, aligning himself with Panthea's center. He teased her at first, gently probing her core, making her gasp in need. She let out a frustrated sigh, leaning up on her elbows and pulling his head towards hers, placing a searing kiss on his lips before drawing him back onto the bed with her. Before Hector knew it, Panthea had grabbed his manhood, himself hissing at the contact as she placed him inside of her. Hector groaned at the feeling of being inside of her, her warmth surrounding his length immediately. Panthea was in the same condition, whimpering as he entered her. He was not as long as Achilles, but wider, making her fill stuffed. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't comfortable either and she wiggled her hips against Hector's.

Panthea's movement made Hector's blood boil and he looked at her with his dark eyes in an animalistic manner. She knew then that he wasn't going to be gentle with her and she gulped. Hector drew himself out of her before aggressively plowing into her, Panthea taken off-guard by his action and she held onto him for support. She had thought he would be gentler, but she didn't mind. They had all the time in the world to be gentle. Minding her growing stomach, Hector leaned himself on his forearms as he plunged in and out of Panthea, the woman herself wrapping her legs around his hips so he could go deeper. The new position was pleasurable for both, Hector throwing his head back in ecstasy while Panthea mewled beneath him. She was tight and hot around his length, just how he imagined, and by her sounds, she was enjoying it as just as much as he was.

Hector began to feel Panthea near her climax, her sounds turning into screams and her body tensing around his length. He lowered his head into the crevasse of her neck and shoulder, nipping at the skin there before enveloping one of her breasts with his mouth. The sensation pushed Panthea even harder, her hands clawing at Hector's back as she urged him to go faster and deeper inside of her.

"Hector" she mewled, "Please…More, please give me more." Hector was hesitant, he was already being aggressive enough and in her condition, he didn't want to harm her or the baby. Many physicians said it was unhealthy to engage in intercourse while a woman was pregnant, but his father had said it was just a myth. Anyhow, he still worried. She was so fragile and staring at her now, Hector slowed his movements, stilling inside of her for a moment. Perspiration dripped down his forehead and he was shaking as he loomed above Panthea.

Panthea looked at him in confusion, her eyes lighting up with puzzlement. Her hands moved from his back to cup his face in her soft palms, her thumbs stroking the skin on his cheeks. "Is something wrong?" she questioned, still panting from their activities. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Do you want this?" Hector asked, his eyes boring into hers as he searched for his answer. Panthea realized he was second-guessing himself, worried for her welfare, but also guarding himself. She knew that he had wanted her and she could have hated him for it, but she couldn't. She had wanted him too. And now that he was inside of her, he couldn't deny what she felt for him. She loved him, completely and fully. She loved him as she loved Achilles. Achilles and Hector were different sides of the same coin. She loved both and her fate was entwined with each man whether she liked it or not.

Panthea nodded her head in agreement, not trusting her voice at first, but then she muttered three simple words that sealed their relationship: "I love you." Hector let out a sound of disbelief, his eyes blinking rapidly and his mouth dropping open. Here, Panthea was admitting that she loved him and he looked at her like a dumbstruck fool. A great smile broke out on his face and he let out a laugh of delight at having obtained what he desired the most. He brought his face close to hers, releasing the tight grip he had had on her body, and cupped the back of her head before placing a firm, but gentle kiss on her mouth.

Removing his lips from Panthea's, Hector returned the words, "I love you too," before staring at the woman in front of him with awe. He was captivated by her, desired her, was frustrated by her, and completely wanted to shake her for her crazy antics, but he loved her. She was his downfall and his saving grace. She was his fire, his passion, his love, and he had found her all by chance.

Hector delivered another smile to her before resuming what they had started, but his grinding into her became soft, gentle, and slow as he sought to please her and only her. As he pushed and pulled himself in and out of her, still reaching her furthest depths, their foreheads pressed together, both wanting to look into each other's eyes as they made love. That's what it was now, making love, and not just fucking as it had been when they started. Hector had a steady rhythm and though it wasn't aggressive anymore, Panthea still felt complete and full from him. She neared her orgasm soon enough, her feet digging into his back as she felt her bliss overtake her. Her head lolled to the side and she trembled from the intensity, a silent scream falling from her lips. Hector kissed her neck lightly as he watched her come, his eyes filled with nothing but love. She reached for him as he pulled out of her, not wanting him to leave her. He complied wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight.

However, Panthea wasn't finished yet, pushing Hector onto his back as she straddled him. She wanted to pleasure him as well, looking down at him mischievously. Hector chuckled at her antics, placing his hands on her stomach and rubbing soothingly as he waited for her move. He didn't expect for her at all to grab his length and begin sliding her hands up and down, making Hector unravel underneath her. Leaning forward, Panthea slowly brought the tip of his length onto her mouth before beginning a sucking motion. She had no clue if she was doing this right as she had never done it with Achilles. It didn't mean the ladies of the Trojan court had not lectured her, Andromache and Helen included. By the look of ecstasy on hector's face, she was apparently doing something right. Hector soon reached his climax, Panthea removing her mouth from his length just before he did so.

Both were breathing heavily, Panthea now laying awkwardly on Hector because of her stomach. They both lay there, entwined together. Hector fell asleep immediately, content and glad after what had just happened.

However, Panthea woke up in a cold sweat after her rather sexual dream. It was not midday, but still night and Helen and Paris lay on either side of her. She was trembling from what she saw, another tantalizing dream that confused her even more. Panthea played over what had just happened over and over again in her head. She couldn't help but feel guilty. She admitted to herself that she loved Hector, but she still loved Achilles. She could never hate herself for feeling this way, for having this dream. Instead, she prayed to the gods for guidance with her heart…and prayed that Achilles would forgive her if she ever told him.

* * *

Meanwhile, once morning had arrived, the council of Troy met in the presence chamber to discuss the upcoming plans for when the war was resumed. Hector was restless, sitting on his throne next to his father as he listened to the elders argue over and over again. It was tiring, listening to the politics of war. He was used to it, it was his duty, and now that winter was melting in spring, battle would resume once more and Hector would lead the Trojan forces. The women and children of Troy would remain safe while the men fought for their lives and the continuance of their country, all for two women brought by mistake. Helen was the mistake though, not Panthea. Panthea had never been faulted, only her mother.

"Perhaps we should attempt to make a treaty with Agamemnon. After all, Hector is now married to his niece," spoke one of the elders. Hector shook his head. Nothing would stop Agamemnon now. Besides, the marriage was a farce. Panthea wanted nothing to do with him as far as he was concerned. The marriage was for appearances only, to protect the child she would bare come summer. It made Hector even more anxious just thinking about the birth of the child. She already had a stomach much larger than Andromache had in her fourth month. The growth of the baby could take a toll on her health in the months to come.

"No," Priam stated, agreeing with Hector. "Although," he paused for a moment, his wise face appearing thoughtful for a moment, "Send a messenger to Menelaus. Perhaps he would agree to peace. We did not see his troops the last days we fought before winter. He is tired. He no longer lusts for war and besides, he could have been the one that left Panthea in the woods."

Again Hector shook his head. Peace was not want the Greeks wanted. Priam waved away the council with a wave of his hand, collapsing on his throne and rubbing his face with a wrinkled hand. "You do not agree with me, son?" he asked Hector.

Hector boldly looked into the eyes of his father, dark brown meeting blue. He breathed in a heavy sigh and stood up from his sitting position, pacing across the floor in front of his father. The shallow pool in the middle of the room showed his exhausted reflection and he stared at his image for a moment. When would the war end? When would he be able to stop fighting? When would Panthea begin to appreciate him for all he was, for all he was doing for her? He turned back to his father, running his hands through his dark curls. He was frustrated, tired, irriated, angry, but most of all he was completely clueless as to how to continue with Panthea.

"You've been deeply struck by Aphrodite's arrows my son. That is what is clouding your judgement. You worry Menelaus may take her from you."

"He wouldn't agree to peace even if you handed it to him on a silver platter with Troy as the main course," Hector gritted through his teeth. "If you give her back, who is to say he will leave? Who is to say he will not strike us in the back the first chance he gets? He's a Greek. His pride is still intact. We have his wife and his daughter. He'll want both."

"You underestimate Menelaus. He's tired of his brother's greed. Helen he could care less for. Its Panthea who still matters and as of now she resides with us in Troy, the safest place for her and the child to be when it is born." Hector halted for a moment. His father had a point. Menelaus had made no move on Troy nor had he made a declaration that Panthea had been taken from him again.

"Perhaps you're right father."

Priam let out a chuckle. "I'm always right my son. Now why don't you stop worrying and go see her. I know that's the only thing that will calm your mind these days." Hector nodded at his father, departing with a small smile on his face. Priam also smiled, remembering his youthful days with Hecuba. His son was just like him, passionate and wreck less when it came to love. He just hoped Panthea would finally give in to her feelings for his son.

* * *

A messenger had been sent out from the city gates, the guards shutting it as quickly as they opened. No mistake would be made in the security of the city. Galloping out on his black stallion, the messenger held a white flag in his hand, the sign of peace, so that the Greek soldiers would not ring the alarm when they saw him. Archers stood at the ready, but were waved down immediately when they saw the flag. The captain of the troops at watch stepped out from the ranks, the messenger addressing him of his purpose. The captain waved him pass, the soldiers in the camp opening a path for the messenger as he headed for Menelaus' part of camp. However, one of the soldier's from the watch was leading him to his destination, the Greeks still being cautious and looking on the horizon for the opening of the gate again.

The group of two arrived at their destination fairly quick, the messenger dismounting from the horse and the soldier alerting the men within Menelaus' tent that the Trojan had a message for their leader. The opening of the tent flapped open and the immense figure of Menelaus protruded from its confines, his face hard as he stared down at the messenger with a raised eyebrow. The messenger gulp, his fear showing as Menelaus was an intimidating man.

"Well, spit it out boy," Menelaus said in a gruff voice.

"My lord….." the man stuttered for a moment before continuing, "My lord, King Priam has asked to arrange a meeting with you, held just outside the city walls. He asks that you and the other war lords come, Lord Agamemnon especially. He wants to broach the topic of peace."

Menelaus' eyes widened for a moment. He knew all, except Agamemnon and Ajax, were tired of war. He hated waiting on the beach shore for spring to arrive. His men were restless. He cared little for Helen now, Panthea being the one who mattered. He could find another wife, get a son from her, or Panthea and Hermione would have sons and the throne would pass to them and his line would be continued, He nodded at the man. "Arrange the meeting. Both of us will bring a select group of guards. No armed soldiers though. There will be no more spilt blood until the war has been renewed by a declaration. I will wait for Priam's answer."

The messenger nodded, bowed, and returned to his horse where he mounted and galloped back towards the city gates. The soldiers in the camp again parted for the messenger as he headed back to Troy, wondering what had just transpired between Lord Menelaus and the messenger. Achilles was especially interested, his blue eyes shining with curiosity as he strutted to Menelaus' tent. Menelaus felt his presence as soon as he entered and turned to the golden warrior. His face was serious and his voice filled with unease. "Priam has asked that we meet with him to discuss peace. Be ready to bring your men with you. They're the only ones I trust to secure the area and not cause chaos with the Trojans…And if Panthea is there, I know you'll want to see her."

Achilles body froze after hearing the news. It was an opportunity to see Panthea after all these months, but now, she was a married woman. Achilles frozenness turned to rage in an instant and he stalked out of the tent, Menelaus sending a worried look after him. Menelaus was damn right to tell him to be ready, for when they met with the Trojans, he wouldn't be leaving without Panthea. That was a promise to the gods.

* * *

 **A/N: Please Review!**


	20. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:** **I own nothing but my OC and parts of the storyline. All rights go to Wolfgang Peterson, the wonderful director of Troy.**

 **A/N: Hello everyone, new and old followers! I am sorry for this late update. I know it's been forever since the last one. I've been so busy with school and honestly, I have had writer's block for this story. Please let me know if any of you all have ideas or suggestions. And thank you to all of those who have messaged me. I am sorry for not responding, but you guys definitely helped to get me writing again. And a note on the last chapter: PANTHEA AND HECTOR DID NOT HAVE SEX. It was just a dream so I'm sorry if some of you were upset. Panthea does love Hector though. Hello to Nina3KPop, Cosue, SiCyLove, QUEEN BLACK-MALFOY, Daisy96, Hoshi Litz, lostfeather1, madie95, Alis-volat-propriis97, classyjazz93, aharth88, 10868letsgo, xXThatRandomKidXx, Zoie10135, Mia747, the real chosen 1, Gryffindor4eva, pokumu, jocleve213, delializeth951, 252020, LycanBeks, Queen Cavallone, jenni10121, federica01. Diablo731, Cecile233, Lovefades, HPuni101, , Luna Mikaelson, WAR0032, The Darker Side of the World22, Murron Bartlett, cathrineoriginal, Stark-ingMad, Annakitty713, poom132, Diablo731, sassygirl9811, Bjosefine, koppe527, BarakTheSlayer, xXSweet Little BumblebeeXx, LunaWolfSunTigress15, Salcedo, bleuseys, jessie-lee95, and Cortax.**

* * *

 **Ch. 19**

" _ **Control thy passions lest they take vengence on thee."**_

 _ **~Epictetus**_

* * *

Panthea sat in the cold water of her bathtub, the heat having disappeared long ago. Her head was laid back against the tile while she sat on the cool marble seat, her hair piled up on the top of her head. The bath was more like a large pool sunk into the tiles of the room and servants had brought hot water bucket by bucket to fill the large confines of the pool. Panthea was lost in her thoughts, rubbing her hands over her huge stomach. It was March now and the meeting that King Priam had tried to arrange would be happening that afternoon. Panthea was five months pregnant though she looked as if her time was near. Her stomach made her look much smaller than usual, which worried Hector at all times of the day. She was strong and never complained about the child, merely saying that her body was growing as the baby was. The baby was not affecting her health, just her ability to move. She often just stayed in her room for moving around was beyond uncomfortable.

As she rubbed her hands over her stomach, Panthea could only imagine what would occur that afternoon. She knew her father was done with the war, but her uncle's bloodlust was uncontrollable. She could only imagine how Achilles was feeling. His love of war was probably driving him crazy since he hadn't been able to fight for three months now. Hopefully, with this meeting the war would end instead of a battle occurring within the next week. Enough lives had been lost. She had heard the widows mourning, the orphans crying out for their fathers that would never return, and mothers weeping over the loss of their sons. It was unbearable for her sometimes, to hear their pain and having nobles do nothing about it. She knew she was one of them, sitting in the palace day by day, not having the same troubles as the regular population. It put a sour taste in her mouth just thinking about it.

Panthea had attempted to reach out to the Trojan people, but Hector prohibited it with her in the condition she was. They had argued about it several times, Panthea becoming upset and Hector calming her down in the end. He worried about her, especially since she could become enraged so easily with her hormones going through the roof. He didn't want her to harm the baby and so he would end the argument by holding her in his arms while he stroked her hair to calm her worries. She would hold onto his arms and bury her face in his chest while she cried, her emotions getting the better of her during her pregnancy. And it didn't matter how long it took, Hector would hold her for hours if he had to. He just wanted to be there for her and for the first time, he felt as if she was feeling something for him if not remotely similar to how he felt about her. Hector would even arrive late to council meetings, his father chuckling at his son's exasperated expression. The lengths he went for that woman were the same Priam had gone for Hecuba.

Panthea's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. "Enter," she spoke. She had thought it would be her maid servant checking in on her, but it was Hector in all of his glory wearing his Trojan armor. He was fully prepared for the meeting and though armed guards were allowed at the meeting, a quota had been set for each side, allowing only a hundred armed guards for each the Greeks and the Trojans. Hector was merely being careful, not trusting the Greeks. All war leaders would be present while they met on the plains of Troy and rules had been drawn up. If any of them were broken, the pact of the peace for the afternoon would be void.

Hector closed the door behind him, walking towards one of the columns in the room and leaning against it. "If you stay in there any longer, someone might begin to think you're a siren," he spoke huskily. His eyes darkened as he took in Panthea's appearance. The water came up above her breasts, covering everything that needed to be, but because of the angle she was sitting in, her stomach was just beginning to poke out of the water.

"Perhaps you should carry me out before I do turn into one. You'd be the first to perish from my singing voice," Panthea teased. Hector chuckled at her words, coming to the edge of the pool and crouching down. He reached over, holding a towel over her to protect her modesty as she rose from her position. He kept his eyes elsewhere, respecting her privacy as she took the towel from him and wrapped it around her body. She cleared her throat when she was thoroughly covered, walking or rather waddling into her bedroom while Hector followed behind her. He laughed at her movement making Panthea stick her tongue out at him.

A maid servant was in the room having laid out several outfits for the day and smiled at the pair. Panthea ran her eyes over each one, deciding on a simple white peplos with gold pins. While her maid servant helped her change, Hector went out onto the balcony, staring out over the city. Again, he gave Panthea her privacy. Panthea let the maid servant wrap the fabric over her huge belly, asking her to make sure it was loose since she could not breath if the material was tight around her middle. She also let the maid release her hair from the bun, arranging it in white blond waves over her shoulders. When she was finished, she dismissed the maid and walked out onto the balcony to stand with Hector, resting her arms on the ledge.

Hector admired her for a moment before he came up behind Panthea, wrapping his arms around her in a loving manner. Panthea let him, leaning back in his embrace. He pressed a small kiss to her temple, letting out a sigh of relief that she did not push him away. It was always hit or miss with her, many times her refusing his affections because of her loyalty to Achilles. But, today was different. She knew what was to happen and Hector was allowing her to see her father, realizing that she would have a glimpse of Achilles. He knew she loved him, but the next three words that came out of her mouth made him wonder if his luck was changing.

"I love you," Panthea spoke, spitting out the words before she lost her courage. She had known that she loved him since the dream the gods had sent her a couple months ago. And though she denied it at first, she couldn't any longer. She did love Hector for his kindness, his perseverance, and his loyalty towards his people. He was a loving father, a caring husband, a dutiful son. And though she loved Achilles, she loved Hector in a different type of way. Achilles was the sun, Hector was the moon. Her love with Achilles was rough and passionate and had struck her immediately while with Hector, her love with him had consumed her slowly until she was completely enveloped within it. She had tried to fight her attraction for him for so long, but now she didn't want to fight it. And yes, she knew she was slighting Achilles, but hadn't he abandoned her for some woman who could please his pleasures? Hadn't he loved another while she remained completely loyal? And yet, she still felt guilty when she spoke those words, but not to Achilles, but to herself for having not said anything.

Hector's breath caught in his throat when he heard those words. His heart started pounding frantically in his chest as he tried to process what Panthea just said. No words could form on his lips. His arms tightened around her, tensing up, and Panthea could feel his erratic breathing on her neck. She waited, though it seemed forever, for him to speak. His brain racked for an answer, but words could not express how he felt. He turned Panthea around, backing her up against the balcony, and cupped her face in his hands, his forehead pressed against hers. He started kissing her on her forehead, then her eyelids, then her cheeks, forming a path on her face. He kissed her chin, the corners of her mouth, and her nose before he pulled her face directly in line with his.

Both let out sighs of nervousness, Panthea licking her lips as her eyes flittered from Hector's dark orbs to his lips and back again. Her hands were pressed against his chest, but she was not pushing him away. Her stomach separated them and she wished she could pull him closer. And the, Hector leaned forward pressing his warm lips against hers. He was gentle, much more so than when Achilles had first kissed her. He was slow as well, easing her into the kiss and grasping the back of her head while his other hands grabbed her waist. His lips moved against hers as hers moved against his in sync. Neither was rushed and neither felt the need to pull away. They were so wrapped up in each other that neither noticed the knock on the door, but Hector did pull away when he heard the voice of his brother.

"Hector, it is time to go brother. Father and Glaucus are waiting." Paris was oblivious to the encounter even though Panthea's face was red and her breathing was heavy. Hector covered most of her with his body, but when he moved to face his brother, Paris was able to see Panthea's appearance, but said nothing. He smiled at the pair, nodded at his head, and left the room, waiting outside the doors. He was completely unaware of what had transpired, merely thinking that the pair were having a serious talk.

Hector turned back to Panthea, a great smile on his face that made Panthea's knees go weak and made her stomach feel butterflies. He kissed her again, gently holding her face. "I love you Panthea," Hector spoke huskily, wishing to stay there instead of attending the meeting between the Greeks and Trojans. "When I return, I should like to continue this with you," he teased, making Panthea giggle. However, a serious look appeared on her face.

"May I see my father?" Panthea questioned. Priam had posed the question on whether Panthea should make an appearance or not, but the matter was not thoroughly discussed. Hector's face turned grim while he thought over the idea for a moment. Achilles would be there, he was sure of it. But, no one would dare take her from Troy in her condition. It was no place for a pregnant woman, especially one that could deliver the heir of Sparta and supposedly Troy if the baby were a son. A daughter would be welcomed, but not seen as important as a son. Priam would not care and Hector would also be unaffected by whatever gender the babe was, but the majority of men would agree that a son was more satisfactory.

Hector rubbed his hand against his face, considering the consequences if he allowed her to attend a part of the meeting. He looked to Panthea, her eyes looking up at him in hope and he caved. He knew she had thought about seeing Achilles, but after what she had just told him, he was not jealous. Only worried she would be overcome with emotion at seeing not only him, but her father after all these months. He was silent for a few moments before answering. "At the end of the meeting, I will send a page to come and fetch you. You will be escorted by the Apollonian guard on horseback, but you are not to go above a walk. And you must be careful in your condition. I will not let you over exert yourself. And when it is time to leave, I will escort you back," Hector spoke, his hand stroking Panthea's hair. She nodded, a huge grin on her face as she buried her face in his chest. Hector wrapped his arms around her, Panthea oblivious to his inner turmoil.

* * *

It had been hours since the meeting started, the Trojans and Greeks getting nowhere with their constant arguing. As promised, a limited amount of troops were brought for both sides, yet the Trojans still kept a look out on their high walls. The great tent had been set up directly in front of the walls, but far enough away from the beach to avoid a surprise attack and far enough from the walls to prevent a breach of the city. Priam with his two sons sat at one end of the long table while Agamemnon, Odysseus, and Menelaus sat at the other. A space remained in the middle of the table where neither Greeks nor Trojans wished to sit next to each other.

Hector sat directly next his father, frustrated that they were getting nowhere with negotiations. Several times during the meeting, he had to hold back his brother from lunging across the table. He was exasperated by his brother's behavior for he still had much to learn. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Achilles who continued to glare daggers at him. He was unnerved by the look, his hand residing next to his sword in case the man lunged at him suddenly. Of course Priam had announced that Hector had taken Panthea as his wife. Menelaus said nothing, but nodded at Hector. He was not against the marriage. In fact, he knew that such a thing was likely when he had hatched a plan with Achilles to return her to Troy. Hector would keep his daughter safe, he knew that much, and a marriage was the perfect way to ensure her security. However, the thought had never crossed Achilles mind, henceforth why Odysseus had to hold him back for the sake of peace during the meeting between Trojan and Greek leaders when the announcement had been made.

Achilles stood at the other end of the tent, leaning against one of the post and fiddling with a dagger in his hands. He had drowned out the talking hours ago, irritated that he had to attend such a meeting. His eyes flittered between Hector and the walls of Troy, hoping to catch a glimpse of his Spartan princess. He had not seen anyone, but guards keeping watch on the walls. No women of Troy were there to watch, not even Hecuba.

Agamemnon then spoke what he had been for the entire afternoon, making Hector roll his eyes again. It was like watching six-year old girls have temper tantrums. "If you do not surrender I will kill every man and every boy of Troy. I will make your women slaves and I will watch your city burn gods help me." He looked disgraceful, spit flying everywhere and his face turning red while the men of Troy continued to yell at him. The Greeks just yelled right back. It was ridiculous to Hector that grown men did not even act so. Women were more collected in their emotions than men were, Hector thought personally. They definitely would not have been sitting and arguing amongst themselves for hours. Hector could picture Panthea now, a ruler among women, a goddess among men. If she were here, he was positive she could end the fighting.

And with that thought, an idea was sparked in Hector's brain. He knew that they were nowhere being close to finished with negotiations, but perhaps the appearance of Panthea would change that. He motioned to one of his guards who had been alerted that Panthea would be allowed to attend the meeting. He was confused as to why the prince was signaling to him so early, but he made no protest and simply followed orders. He stepped outside the tent, nodding to Tecton, the head of the Apollonian guard after Hector. He had survived the first attack on the Trojan beach and was Hector's righthand man. The two men caught the attention of Achilles who was curious at the departure of the two, but he said nothing and continued to mess with his dagger.

* * *

Panthea sat with Hecuba, Briseis, Cassandra, Andromache, and Helen in the queen's chambers, the rest of Hecuba's daughters, younger sons, and distant family members were present while the courtiers were left to their own devices for the day and not permitted in the queen's chambers. Servants and slaves stood around the royal family, holding trays of food and fanning the women if they needed such a thing. Astyanax was playing on the floor with his cousins, giggling at the older ones as they made silly faces at him. However, unlike the other boys, Polydorus sat with the women, listening to Panthea discuss her many journeys with her father when he went on campaigns. How he wished to be able to fight, but he was too young and his father would not let him.

Tecton then walked briskly into the room, nodding at Panthea when she noticed him. She rose from her position on the chaise, slowly, but surely, and made her way towards him. She knew he had been informed of the plan and when she saw him, she knew it was time. She was nervous, but careful not to show it. Andromache and Helen both sent her confused looks, but she ignored them. Instead, she pulled on Polydorus' hand, making the young prince come with him. Surely Hector would not be upset if his brother escorted her to the wall. He deserved to experience a little bit of the war, even if it was watching from the sidelines.

The pair walked towards Tecton, exiting the queen's chambers and walking down the open halls of the palace. Guards immediately surrounded them and Tecton handed Panthea a cloak to keep her identity hidden. She donned the garment quickly, though it did little to hid her almost white hair. People would still recognize her regardless if she had a cloak on or not. Her hair was a dead giveaway even if she was able to cover her bulging stomach.

As the group made their way down the palace steps, Apollis stood saddled and ready. Of course, the steed would only walk the entire journey to the wall and then, the group would dismount to walk by foot to the tent where the meeting was occurring. Tecton rode with Panthea, making sure the princess was not harmed. The citizens of Troy watched the group as they rode past, some children darting between Apollis' legs and laughing. They knew it was Panthea as she would let them play with Apollis whenever she had ridden into town before her condition prevented her from doing so. Panthea smiled at the children, placing her hand on her stomach. She hoped there would still be laughter in Troy when her child was born.

The walls of Troy creeped up on Panthea and before she knew it, they were staring her in the face. She gulped loudly, her anxiousness now taking over. Her breathing became shallow and she felt like she was going to faint. The guards at the gate open the massive doors and Panthea could see the sands of Troy before her. The sun glared brightly down on the earth and she felt the heat immediately. She was so used to being kept in the cool, shaded halls of Troy because of her pregnancy and now how she missed the cold tile and the servants who would fan her.

The doors closed with bang and Panthea heard the lock close behind. All precautions were still in place. The security of the city was still considered a top priority and no chances would be taken in jeopardizing the safety of the people of Troy. Polydorus stood inside the city, watching every inch as the door closed. He sent a small smile towards Panthea and she attempted to send one back. But it didn't reach her eyes.

Apollis was halted by Tecton who first dismounted before helping Panthea down. When her feet hit the ground, Panthea searched for Hector immediately. The tent was closed, a great white mass in the middle of the sand. Guards from either side surrounded the tent, Trojans on one side and Greeks on the others. Trojan guards and archers stood on top of the walls, ready just in case a surprise attack happened. The armed group walked toward the tent, but Panthea halted in the middle of the sands. She couldn't move. She was practically frozen by fear. Noticing her reluctance, Tecton spoke, "Wait here," walking the rest of the way to the tent and entering.

* * *

Hector spotted Tecton immediately when he entered, having heard the flap of the tent as it was lifted and Tecton appeared. He rose from his position next to his father, blocking out the shouting and excusing himself from the conversation. Achilles watched, he had been watching the entire time. Hector knew he was as did Odysseus who was watching his friend with caution. Hector briskly walked out of the tent, spotting an anxious Panthea rubbing her fingers over the fabric of her cloak nervously.

Hector made his way towards Panthea, reaching out and grasping her shoulders gently. Seeing their prince, the guards stepped away to give the couple privacy. Panthea hadn't look up from the ground until Hector had reached for her and now, looking into her eyes, he could see how anxious she was. She pulled the cloak around her tightly, the feel of the fabric against her skin comforting. Hector pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, careful of her baby bump. He breathed in her sweet scent, his face in her hair. She nuzzled against his chest, feeling safe in his arms.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Hector questioned, worried for her wellbeing. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want."

Panthea lifted her head up from Hector's chest. "I need to do this," she uttered, determined to not lose her confidence. "This could help bring peace between Troy and the Greek nations. If our union has any chancing of saving Troy, I need to do this." She rubbed her hands over her stomach, biting her lip. Her eyes wandered over to the tent and she took a deep breath. "I'm ready," she said, looking to Hector with such fierceness that he smiled. He nodded to her, placing a hand on her back as he led her towards the tent.

When the pair entered, the Trojans and Greeks were still arguing with each other. But, when they spotted Panthea, the voices died down and all became silent. Agamemnon and Menelaus rose from their chairs, shocked to see Panthea out of the city walls. Hector kept her close, blocking most of her from view and her stomach being hidden behind the cloak she wore. Achilles, immediately tensed when he saw Panthea enter, pushing off the post he had been leaning on and taking a few steps forward. Odysseus sent him a warning look, urging him not to cause a scene or do anything just quite yet. He had his suspicions with the way Hector was guarding her so protectively.

All other Greeks and Trojans rose from their chairs, bowing as the pair walked by. Several muttered "princess" as Panthea walked by and nodded to her in respect. Agamemnon was fuming at seeing men such as themselves bow to a woman, but Menelaus was filled with pride. His daughter was commanding respect as she walked by such men. Achilles felt the same, his heart brimming with love at seeing her after so many months.

Priam stood from his chair, his arms wide as he embraced his daughter-in-law. "Leave us," he spoke, the Trojans disappearing from the tent until his sons, Glaucus, and a few trusted advisors remained. Agamemnon did the same, only him, Menelaus, Achilles Odysseus, and Nestor remained. Priam held his embrace with Panthea until all men left, pressing a fatherly kiss to her forward. It calmed her and as she left his embrace, her cloak moved and her stomach was revealed. Now all eyes were on her stomach and Panthea fidgeted under the scrutiny. Menelaus let out a gasp, his eyes widening at his daughter's appearance. Hector came up behind her, his hands on her shoulders as he whispered to her comfortingly. Panthea placed her hands on her stomach, waiting for someone to speak.

It was then that Panthea eyes lifted up and connected with Achilles. His gaze was so intense she didn't know what to do. Her breath caught in her throat and her confidence faded. It had been months since she had seen him, but she still felt that familiar feeling within. Yet, things were different. She broke the connection, looking down at her tummy as she continued stroking it. Achilles eyes drifted there as well and he couldn't help, but glare at Hector. He had no clue if the child was his or Hector's and his hands clenched.

"Panthea," Menelaus spoke as he walked towards his daughter. He hand reached out and he placed it on her stomach. Panthea smiled up at her father, small tears falling down her face. Menelaus smiled as well, looking to Priam who chuckled at the scene.

"It seems to me Menelaus that we will share a grandchild, the future king of Sparta and perhaps of Troy," Priam exclaimed, smiling at the father and daughter. The king of Troy did not realize he had just enraged Achilles with such a sentence, but Panthea did. Her eyes went back to Achilles just as he began to draw his sword and lunge for Hector. She stepped between them, halting Hector as he drew his weapon as well.

"Stop," Panthea yelled, one hand holding her pregnant stomach while the other one pressed against Achilles' chest. "Achilles, please stop," she spoke, this time only Achilles hearing her plea. He dropped his hand which held the weapon, but he was still shaking in anger. However, feeling her hand against his chest made his anger lessen and he looked into her eyes. She whispered again, making sure her uncle could not hear her. "I'm carrying your son, not Hector's." Achilles anger completely disappeared as he was overcome with joy. However, he had to check his emotions. He backed away from Panthea, nodding towards Hector who now felt comfortable enough to lower his weapon.

"Panthea," Hector spoke, holding his hand out to her. "I think you've exerted yourself too much this afternoon. Come." Panthea heeded his suggestion, taking his hand and sending one last look at Achilles before Hector escorted her out of the tent. Hector was furious at the way Achilles had been looking at Panthea. It made him sick to his stomach, knowing that the child was not his. How he wished the baby growing within Panthea was his and not Achilles.

Achilles felt the same, hating Hector because he was able to bring Panthea back to Troy with him. He knew it was the best option for her because she would be safer inside the city walls than on the beaches of Troy. But, it still angered him to see Hector with his arms around her, to see the way he looked at her. And when she turned to look at him, his heart dropped. She loved him and he knew it. But, he didn't blame her. Hector cared for her, was the man that she deserved. He wished to be that man, but because of the damned war, he couldn't be. He was Achilles, the champion of the Greeks, the man who was born to end lives, to end wars. He cursed himself, cursed his destiny that had been made for him before he was even born.

Panthea let Hector lead her to the city, a small smile on her face after having seen Achilles. She knew he was happy with the news, but that he couldn't act so in front of her uncle. No one could know the child was Achilles, not until after the war anyways. If Agamemnon believed the child was Hector's, he would believe that perhaps the line of Atreus would be on the throne of Troy. His nephew, the future king of Troy. Of course, if the child was a girl, the couple would still have more children. Yet, Agamemnon was still not completely pleased. The meeting was ended for the day, no conclusion had been made, but Agamemnon, to everyone's surprise, was open to more negotiation. However, Menelaus was ready to end this war. His daughter was pregnant and he would be a grandfather. He saw no need to fight now. His urge for gore and glory had burnt out. His family was all that mattered now. He wanted this war to end and he was to make Agamemnon well aware of that when they returned to camp. And if his brother refused, he would join the Trojans. It was time his brother's quest for domination halted. It was a new age, an age where Agamemnon would no longer rule.

* * *

 **A/N: Comments?**


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